


I Need You Now

by SigmaCreations



Series: Surround me with your love [2]
Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Marriage, Requited Love, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to my one-shot, 'Surround Me', set in early S9. Ruth and Harry have agreed to marry tomorrow and just give it their best shot, to give everything. An entirely light hearted fic with lots of fluff and a healthy dose of smut for good measure. All characters belong to Kudos and no copyright infringement is intended. Reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She steps out of the shower and dries herself thoroughly before pulling on the grey Oxford t-shirt Harry's lent her to sleep in. The cotton is well worn and soft against her skin, and the size much too large for her. The sleeves almost come down to her elbows and the hem to mid thigh, and it makes her realise just how large Harry really is compared to her. She slips into her clean knickers which, unfortunately, are just a pair of plain, black ones that she'd grabbed from her locker at work. In fact, most of her knickers are plain, practical and rather boring. She's going to have to go shopping tomorrow, she thinks with a smile as she dries her hair with the travel hair-drier she'd also remembered to take, realising that a man with as little hair as Harry is unlikely to have one. Then she brushes her teeth, again with a toothbrush from work, and with one, last, nervous glance in the mirror while fighting the urge to look at herself critically for too long, she leaves the bathroom. 

When she steps into the bedroom, the bedside lamp is on and Harry's already in bed under the covers, so she quickly scurries across the floorboards and slips under the duvet, pulling it all the way up to her chin as she shivers from the change in temperature. 

“Cold?” he asks softly, turning onto his left side to face her.

“Yes,” she replies. “It's the temperature change. I'll be fine in a moment.”

“I should have adjusted the heating,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be silly,” she admonishes lightly, reaching her hand towards him. 

He takes it in his and brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her fingertips. “Ruth,” he whispers, “I want you to know that having you here, with me, makes me feel... jubilant.”

She smiles and shuffles closer to him, feeling her nerves dissolve with his declaration and after seeing the joy so clearly written all over his face. He lifts his right arm to allow her to come close before he encircles her with it as she rests her head on his left, upper arm, nuzzling her face into his neck and tangling their legs together, delighting in the feel of his warm skin against hers. She feels him start as her cold feet come into contact with his calf and chuckles softly, murmuring a quiet apology. 

“Are your feet always this cold?” he asks as he wraps both arms around her and pulls her closer. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” she grins happily as she drapes her own arm over his side to rub his back. “You'll have to wait and find out, won't you?”

“I look forward to it,” he chuckles. 

She sighs in contentment as his warmth seeps though her and his smell envelops her. He has such a wonderful, masculine scent, and it's such a delight to be surrounded by it now. It makes her feel safe and relaxed, content and happy, as well as a little aroused.

“Mmmmm,” she hums a little while later. “This feels wonderful. I could get used to _this_.”

“Please do,” he smiles, pulling her closer still so that she's flush against his body and she has to fight hard to stop her thoughts from dwelling on the feel of him against her and suppress her rising passion. They're quiet for a little while and then suddenly he murmurs, “I can't believe you're really here, Ruth. I fear I might be dreaming.”

“Would you like me to pinch you?” she grins as she moves back a little to look at him. 

“No, thank you,” he chuckles. 

“What about this?” she asks before she presses her lips against his softly and then more firmly as he responds, sliding one hand into her hair, cradling her head as he pulls her close. He hums in satisfaction as they deepen the kiss, his chest vibrating against hers with the sound and causing her to lose the battle to keep this chaste and control her arousal as desire explodes inside her. She moans softly, running her left hand down his back to the hem of his t-shirt before bringing it back up under the material, feeling his warm, soft skin for the first time. How long has she waited to do this? To touch him, feel his hands on her body, his lips against hers? Too long... far too long. 

His hands become bolder too as the heat rises between them, running up and down her back under her borrowed t-shirt several times before he shifts his weight, rolling her onto her back and leaning over her, his right hand slipping forward to caress her stomach. She moans again, sucking harder on his lower lip as his hand glides higher, his fingertips gently caressing the lower part of her left breast and then slowly venturing higher. It's when his hand cups her breast and his thumb rubs against her hardened nipple that she has to release his lips, a gasp of pleasure escaping her as the sensations become overpowering. “Harry,” she moans softly. His hand's pushing her shirt up now and soon his mouth replaces his thumb, sucking gently on her areola, his tongue rubbing against her, making her groan and pant with want. He slips his leg between hers, bending his knee so that his thigh presses firmly against her pubic bone, and as his mouth and hands continue to caress her breasts, she begins to grind herself against him, moaning in pleasure.

Her left hand is already tangled in his hair, pulling him towards her as she arches her back to meet him, but needing to pull him closer still, she begins to lift her other hand that's trapped between their bodies, and almost immediately, it comes into contact with his erection, now straining against his boxer briefs and pressing into her hip repeatedly with increasing insistence. She strokes him gently with her thumb causing a low groan to escape him and slips her fingers round him, marvelling at how thick and hard he is and feeling the heat of his skin even through the thick cotton of his underwear. She tightens her hold on him as he sucks harder on her nipple and she tugs firmly upwards, causing him to release her breast as he groans heavily at the sensation and then whispers her name. He licks her breast again, sending jolts of pleasure straight through to her already molten core and making her begin to see stars, her whole body beginning to hum and vibrate with an intense pre-climactic energy. 

“Harry, wait,” she gasps and takes several deep breaths as he stills and raises his head to look at her. “I'm sorry,” she breathes. “It's just that you wanted to wait, and if you don't stop now, I won't be able to. What exactly are we doing here?”

“I don't know,” he sighs, shaking his head to clear it and pulling back a little as he closes his eyes for a moment. “You're so beautiful, Ruth, and so very responsive and passionate. I just... I got a little carried away... I'm sorry; you're right. We should stop.” He pulls back a little further, pulling her t-shirt down over her body once more before kissing her lips softly and rolling onto his back, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart and tame his raging desire. 

“If you no longer want to wait, Harry,” she murmurs softly as she turns to face him, “we don't have to. It's entirely up to you. I don't mind either way.”

“No,” he replies, rolling over to face her again, “I want to do this properly. I've never felt like this before, Ruth. You've bewitched me... heart, body and soul. The way I feel about you, it's... I can't find words to describe it... You're special and I want to do the right thing. You're the love of my life, Ruth, and I plan on staying with you and loving you until the day I die.”

She smiles softly, feeling the tears prickle the back of her eyelids as his words surround and overwhelm her. She doesn't trust herself to speak, so she raises her hand instead, cupping his face and softly stroking his freshly shaved cheek with her thumb before she lifts her hand again and gently traces the contours of his beloved face with her fingertips, from his eyebrows to the corner of his eye down to his chin and up to his lips. He watches her quietly, his eyes shining with love, and when her fingers slide up to his lips, he kisses her fingertips softly. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Harry?” she whispers. “I'm not sure I deserve to be loved so completely, so unconditionally, so steadfastly, not after the things I've done, the way I've treated you...” her voice breaks and the tears begin to slide down her cheeks as swiftly she rolls away from him, attempting to escape to the bathroom.

Harry, however, is very quick when he wants to be, and before she's even managed to roll all the way over, his arm shoots out to stop her, pinning her to the bed as he murmurs, “Don't go. Please, don't go.” She hears the hint of panic in his voice and stills, realising what he must think and feeling a pang of guilt that she's made him so insecure. She doesn't say anything, but she bring her hand up to rest on top of his as it lies across her chest and feels him relax a little and move closer, wrapping his body round her, spooning himself along her back and pulling her against his chest, holding her close as she silently weeps. 

“I think, Ruth,” he murmurs after a little while when her tears slow, “that perhaps we deserve each other. Neither of us is perfect, but we see in each other all the good things that we don't see in ourselves, and each of us feels like they're the lucky one. I don't believe there is anything you would do that could make me love you any less. You're a brilliant, kind, loyal, compassionate, caring person, Ruth, and you'd never hurt me intentionally. I know that. Do you have any idea how rare that is, especially in a spook? Do you have _any_ idea what it means to me to know that you love me? _Me_ , Ruth. After everything I've done... killed people, made countless morally reprehensible decisions, cheated, lied, hurt, damaged. The list is endless... You've seen me at some of my worst moments. You know me, _really_ know me, and yet you love me, you want me, you...” He stops, his voice cracking with emotion. 

She turns in his arms then, catching a wayward tear with her thumb as it slides down his cheek and running her hand through his hair as she gazes at him adoringly. “You're a rare man, Harry Pearce,” she murmurs. “You hold one of the more powerful positions in the Security Services, and yet the power hasn't gone to your head. You make tough decisions every day, always trying your best to do the right thing. You try so hard to protect everyone, from total strangers to those you care for and love, and are willing to give up so much of yourself for their security. And of course, sometimes you make mistakes and, because the stakes are so high, people get hurt and sometimes they die. And yet you don't give up trying despite the guilt you feel, the toll it takes on you, the sacrifices you've had to make... So the way I see it, how could I not love you? What is there not to love?”

She leans in to kiss him, pressing her lips against his softly, tenderly, repeatedly as her fingers gently caress his neck, but when she feels her desire rekindle, she pulls back, knowing that, in their current, emotional state, they won't be able to hold back. “Let's sleep, Harry,” she suggests.

“Yes,” he agrees and kisses her lips softly once more. “Let's sleep.” He rolls onto his back, pulling her with him and wrapping his arm around her shoulders when she moves closer and rests her head on his shoulder. “Goodnight, Ruth,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead and switching off the light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she smiles and shuffles even closer, cuddling up to him and sighing in contentment as she closes her eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 When she wakes up, she's alone in bed. She yawns and stretches before reaching for her phone, pushing aside the disappointment of not waking up next to him as she checks the time. Half-past five in the morning! It's rather early for her to be awake. She wonders what woke her as she puts the phone down again and reaches a hand over to feel the sheet beside her. It's still warm; he can't have been gone long. She's tempted to go back to sleep, but finds that she's already too wide awake for that. Besides, she really needs to pee, so locating the extra thermometer she always keeps in her handbag, she slips it under her tongue and waits patiently for it to beep, trying to take her mind off her overly full bladder. She shouldn't have had that extra cup of tea last night with the omelet Harry had made for supper, she thinks desperately. Eventually it's done, so she pulls it out and glances at the screen. Thirty-six point six degrees. Her chart's at home, of course, so she quickly types in the number into her phone, saving it for later, and getting out of bed into the surprisingly warm room, she swiftly makes her way to the bathroom. Harry must get up pretty early if his heating has already kicked in, she thinks absently as she opens the door into the hall and moves along it toward the bathroom.

The door is closed and she can hear the shower running. Briefly she contemplates going back to bed to wait, but after a few seconds listening to the sound of the water, she's _really_ desperate for the loo, _so_ desperate, in fact, that she doesn't think she'll make it to the one downstairs. So knocking on the door loudly, she tries the handle and opens the door, peering into the steam filled room and calling, “Harry?”

“Yes?” comes the answer from beyond the shower curtain.

“Can I come in? I really need to pee,” she admits, blushing with embarrassment even as she tells herself to stop being silly. She's lived with men before and shared bathrooms with them, so this should really not be a big deal... especially since she's going to marry him today. And with that thought, her embarrassment recedes a little and she can't help the warmth that spreads through her belly and the smile that appears on her lips.

“Of course,” he replies as he peers round the curtain and smiles at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she answers, stepping into the room and closing the door. When she turns towards him again, she's glad to see that he's disappeared behind the curtain once more, giving her a little privacy, so she quickly uses the loo, almost sighing with relief as the tension leaves her body. She flushes and washes her hands before picking up her toothbrush to clean her teeth, listening to the hot water falling over Harry and finding it difficult not to smile at the unconscious noises of appreciation he makes.

Once she's done, she turns to face the shower once more, wondering what he looks like naked and suppressing the urge to take a peek, knowing that it wouldn't be very fair without his consent. But what if he were to give his consent? Could they both handle showering together this morning, she wonders, mulling it over in her mind for a bit. Does she really want to marry a man she's never actually seen? She's not as... old-fashioned as he is and, though she's happy to grant him his wish to delay sex for twenty-four hours if it means that much to him, especially since, after last night, she's now convinced that it _will_ be spectacular when they finally make love, she'd much rather know as much as possible about him before they tie the knot. Maybe it's the analyst in her, but she hates not having all the facts. Not that her knowing will really change anything. She's loved him for so long and she knows him, the kind of man he is, which is really the only thing that's important. Still, it'd be nice to see him, to see the parts her hands ran over last night and the bits they didn't get a chance to feel yet. And frankly, it might make them less nervous about their wedding night if they know what to expect.

“Harry?” she calls a little hesitantly, eventually plucking up the courage to suggest it.

“Yes?” he replies.

“May I join you?” she asks rather timidly.

His head appears from behind the shower curtain again and he looks at her, his hair plastered down against his head, water dripping down his face, and his eyes dark and unreadable.

“I mean,” she immediately begins to explain herself with a blush, “it's fine if you don't want me to. I know it might make it a little too hard to stick to our decision to wait. It's just that I wanted... to see you and-”

“Okay,” he nods before disappearing behind the curtain again. She's not quite sure what to make of his curt response as she's unable to figure out whether it's really okay with him, or if he's just worried he'll hurt her feelings if he refuses. She almost makes up her mind to just leave the bathroom to be on the safe side, but then she realises that _that_ would be holding back, which is exactly what she'd decided yesterday that they shouldn't do any more. For this to work, they need to give everything, like they do at work, and trust each other to be honest and open; that's the deal they made. So she strips quickly and walks determinedly up to the bathtub, pulling aside the curtain a little and stepping in.

Once she's pulled the curtain closed again, she turns slowly to face him, seeking out his eyes with her own as she tries hard not to blush and grasps her thighs with her hands to stop herself from fidgeting. “You're beautiful, Ruth,” he murmurs softly as she watches his eyes scan her body, travelling down from her face to her chest, lingering on her breasts before moving lower, gliding over her soft, slightly rounded tummy to her wide hips and dark pubic hair before following her thick, shapely thighs to her calves and feet. “My God, you're beautiful,” he repeats in awe as he raises his eyes to hers once more and she can see the sincerity in his face. “Absolutely stunning.”

She smiles in relief and pleasure, letting her own gaze roam over him, taking in his broad, strong shoulders and arms, his smooth chest and slight middle-age spread, following the thin line of wet, copper blonde hair from his navel down to his thick, pubic hair and his already half-mast erection. She forces her gaze not to linger long here, but to move further down to his thick, muscular thighs and sculpted calves, and his wide, sexy feet. He's in pretty good shape for a man his age who has a desk job, drinks a bit more than is good for him and has no time to cook, she notes with some surprise and great delight. As she raises her eyes to his once more, she allows herself a longer look at his now almost fully erect cock, and as she gazes at him with increasing admiration at his size and width, he grows even harder until he's standing fully erect before her, and she has to fight the urge to reach out and touch him with every fibre of her being. Instead she lifts her eyes to his, and clearing her throat, she whispers a little hoarsely, “You're not so bad yourself, Harry.”

He grins, clearly delighted by the desire that must be clearly written across her face. “I'm glad you said that,” he replies huskily.

“You weren't worried, were you?” she smiles and takes a step towards him so that she's within arm's reach of him, though the water from the shower still doesn't reach her as his body shields her from all but a few drops. “I've always thought you incredibly sexy.”

“Of course I was worried, Ruth,” he murmurs. “How could I not be when, not only am I more than a decade older than you and my body's old, scarred and broken, but I'm also in the worst shape of my life?”

Her gaze drops to the scar on his left shoulder for a moment, the most noticeable one on his torso and the most personal for her because she knows it's where Tom shot him. The mark isn't very large, but the skin is slightly puckered with a silver line running down from it towards his chest and another along his shoulder. She can feel his eyes on her, watching her carefully, and can see the tension in his body as he waits for her assessment, perhaps expecting her to turn away in disgust. The analytical part of her brain, the part that always remains detached and objective, acknowledges that to some women it might appear ugly and cause them to recoil in distaste, but that's not how she feels at all. If anything, it makes her admire him and love him more, and want to cling to him more tightly as the realisation of how close he came to death on so many occasions makes her recognise how easily she could lose him.

Slowly she leans forward, gently pressing her palms against his lower ribs and her lips against the scar on his shoulder, leaving behind a tender kiss as she pulls back to look at him and replies, “In case you failed to notice, Harry, I'm not in particularly good shape either. I haven't had any regular exercise since I moved back to London and my tan faded long ago. Anyway, I'm biased; I'm in love and happen to think you're wonderful.” She watches as his face relaxes into a smile and he lifts his hands to rest them on her upper arms. Then she adds with a mischievous grin and slight blush, “Besides, you're rather... impressive, Harry, as I'm sure you're well aware.”

He chuckles softly and leans forward, murmuring near her ear, “My one saving grace... and the good news is that I know how to use it.”

She laughs, blushing furiously and leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder, hiding her crimson cheeks from him as she replies, “That _is_ good news.” He chuckles again and she feels his hands slip round from her arms to her shoulder blades and slowly glide down her back as he leans back and lets the hot water finally begin to run over her.

They stand still for a few moments, enjoying the hot shower and the contact of their bodies and fighting hard to rein in their desire for so much more. From her current vantage point, she can clearly observe his erection without feeling self-conscious, and she discovers that he truly has the most beautiful cock she's ever seen. As her eyes roam over him, it becomes increasingly hard for her to hold back, and she desperately wants to touch him, taste him, feel him inside her, and not necessarily in that order.

Her hands begin to glide down his torso as if of their own accord when he suddenly pulls back and says rather hoarsely, “Ruth, I'm sorry. I can't... stay here. I've only got so much self-control and you're testing it to its limits. I want you so much, but I-”

“It's okay, Harry,” she interrupts, seeing the worry in his eyes. “I know. I understand. We agreed to wait. I'm sorry I put you in this position. I wasn't trying to seduce you, or make it harder for you. I just-”

“No, it's okay,” he murmurs and presses a soft kiss against her cheek before stepping back and getting out of the shower. Then he turns round to face her and smiles, “It was a good idea. I'll enjoy knowing _exactly_ what I have to look forward to later.”


	3. Chapter 3

 She walks into his office without knocking and watches the smile spread across his lips as he looks up. “Glad to see things are back to normal,” he quips.

“Indeed,” she smiles as she slides the door shut and approaches his desk. “About our wedding,” she pauses, marvelling at how those two words fill her insides with warmth and a thousand butterflies at once.

“Yes?” he prompts when she doesn't continue.

“Sorry,” she smiles. “It's just those words. I never thought I'd say them... not to you.” She frowns, murmuring, “That didn't come out right. What I meant is-”

“I know what you meant, Ruth,” he reassures her, getting up and walking round his desk to join her. “And if I'm being honest, I didn't believe I'd hear you say them either... I hoped, but...” He tails off giving her a half-smile and a shrug. She watches him fondly for a moment, wanting to kiss him but knowing she can't, not at work, and seeing the love he feels for her shining in his eyes. They're so much more expressive than usual as if he cannot help the way they fill with love when he looks at her. Perhaps he's given up trying to hide it now that she welcomes it, or perhaps she's just finally opened her eyes and can see what was there all along. She doesn't know which it is, and frankly, she doesn't care. She just hopes nothing awful happens to separate them again; she couldn't bear it if another Cotterdam were to occur.

“So,” he murmurs eventually, his voice dipping into a low rumble, “what about _our_ wedding?”

“Um,” she begins, shaking her head slightly to clear it as she watches the small, smug smile spread across his lips. God, how she wants to kiss those lips. “Our wedding... Yes,” she says, turning away from him in an effort to get a grip. She walks to the sofa and sits down, collecting herself as she waits for him to sit beside her before she explains. “I've hit a snag. Every registrar I've spoken to is adamant that we need to give at least two weeks notice. Not even the mention of MI-5 or your knighthood seems to sway them.”

“Two weeks!” he exclaims. “That's ridiculous.”

“Apparently it takes that long for them to check all the documentation and confirm everything's in order. Plus according to the law, they need to publicly post our intention to wed at our local registry office for a period of seventeen days, so that, if anyone objects, they can notify the registrar.”

“Objects? Who would object?” he replies with a baffled look.

“I don't know. Your other wife perhaps,” she teases lightly.

“My last wife was all too happy to get rid of me, Ruth,” he frowns, clearly in no mood to be teased.

“Can't think why,” she replies, trying hard to keep a straight face. “You're such an open, cheerful man.” He scowls at her, making her lose the battle and smile as she surreptitiously reaches over and squeezes his knee. “Anyway, in the mean time, we need to fill in some paperwork, give proof of residence, get some rings, produce our birth certificates and passports, and you need a copy of your divorce decree. Oh, and we need two witnesses. Have any ideas on that front?”

“I could ask Catherine. She's in town at the moment,” he suggests with a sigh.

“All right...” she frowns, unsure if it's a good idea or not.

“Don't worry,” he smiles, reaching over to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “She knows about you, and I think, she'll be pleased to be invited to our wedding. I wouldn't ask her otherwise.”

“Okay,” she agrees, pleased to hear that he's told Catherine about her and that she won't be the cause of any friction between him and his daughter. She feels his thumb begin to slide slowly across her knuckles and suddenly she heart's racing again. It's amazing really, how much power he has over her, she thinks dimly as she glances down at her hand nestled in his larger one. “And I think we aught to ask Malcolm,” she says quickly before she completely loses the thread of their conversation and climbs on top of him. Two weeks? How the hell are they going to manage to wait that long? Not for a moment does she believe that they can.

“Agreed,” he nods. “I'll call him also.”

“Good,” she says, lifting her eyes to his once more. He's watching her intently as he continues to caress her knuckles and she finds herself gravitating towards him and his soft inviting lips. She remembers them; they taste of whisky and Harry and are so very soft and yet firm at the same time. In fact, they're the most wonderful lips in the world and... She stands up quickly, walking towards his desk as she stammers, “Right... Um... birth certificates and passports should be simple enough, and you have your divorce papers?”

“Oh, yes,” he replies sarcastically, his voice coming closer as he follows her across the room. “I have them framed in my office at home.”

She turns her head and frowns at him in disapproval at his poor attempt at humour, but she doesn't comment. Instead she states, “Which just leaves the shopping.”

“Shopping?” he asks apprehensively, sounding a little alarmed.

“Well, yes,” she replies, unable to hold in the smile at the look on his face. “The rings, Harry.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, looking relieved. “I'll get those... unless you want to do it together?”

“That might be nice,” she smiles, pleased that he thought to ask and desperately wanting to get him away from the office where she can steal a snog or ten.

“Good,” he agrees, giving her a mischievous look. “We'll go this afternoon, skive off work for a bit. It's a slow day.”

 

* * *

 

“Come here a moment, Ruth,” he says and moves off the path they're following through St. James's Park on their way to Bond St. She follows him to a park bench that's shielded from view and takes the seat he indicates. Ever the gentleman, he waits until she sits down before lowering himself onto the bench beside her and turning to face her, murmuring, “I have something for you.” She grins at him, making him chuckle and shake his head as he declares, “Not _that_!”

It's on the tip of her tongue to say, “Shame,” when he reaches into his coat pocket and brings out a small, square jewellery box, which makes her forget what she was going to say as her eyes widen in surprise. Before he opens it, however, he adds, “I want to give you an engagement ring, Ruth, but it doesn't have to be this one. I didn't choose this for you... it was my mother's, so if you don't like it, I'd be happy to get you a different one. I just thought...”

He tails off so she smiles and says, “I understand, Harry.” Then, when he doesn't move, she adds, “May I see it?” He nods and opens the box, holding it up for her to see the beautiful, thin, pink gold ring which has an intricate flower filigree pattern around a single, small diamond raised in the centre. “Harry,” she whispers, “how could you possibly think I wouldn't like it? It's gorgeous.”

He smiles and takes it out of the box, murmuring, “May I?”

She hesitates for a moment and says, “But, Harry, this ring should go to one of your children, not to me. It belonged to your mother and it should stay in the family.”

He shakes his head and smiles fondly at her as he replies in a slightly exasperated voice, “Ruth! Will you _stop_ thinking of everyone else for a change? This ring was _my_ mother's and it's up to _me_ to decide who I want to give it to. Catherine has most of the rest of my mother's jewellery, and believe me, there's enough of that to sink a ship; Dad was always buying her things. As for Graham, he won't even speak to me, so I don't think he'll care one way or the other about this ring. After all, he never knew his grandmother.” She still looks sceptical, so he adds, “If you feel so strongly about it, Ruth, you can always leave it to one of them in your will. If you like it, I would very much like _you_ to have it...” He looks down at the ring then and continues in a low voice, “You see, I've been saving it for you. My father always kept it with him after Mum died, and when he passed away a few years ago, I'd already met you, and though, at the time, I hadn't quite realised the depth of my feelings for you, I couldn't quite bring myself to gave it to Catherine. My parents loved each other very much and were so happy together, Ruth... It just seems right that I should give it to you.” He lifts his eyes to hers again and murmurs, “So please... let me?” She smiles then and nods, holding out her left hand and watching him slide it on as she swallows down the lump of emotion that's lodged in her throat after his quiet speech.

“It fits perfectly,” she murmurs in surprise and lifts her eyes to his, noting the way they twinkle at her in mischief. “What?” she asks.

“I confess, I had it resized for you,” he smiles.

“When? And how did you know my size?” she asks in amazement.

“I can't tell you _all_ my secrets, Ruth,” he grins. “There has to be a little air of mystery, or else, how can I ever hope to hold your interest for the rest of our lives?”

“Oh Harry,” she laughs, “you couldn't get rid of me now if you tried.” Then she leans close and murmurs with a mischievous smile, “Not before we have sex at least once at any rate.” It's his turn to laugh, caught completely off guard by her comment, and she delights in this rare display of heartfelt joy. “It's good to hear you laugh,” she smiles as she watches him, her hand squeezing his gently in pleasure.

“Oh, Ruth,” he sighs as he leans back against the bench, tilting his face up towards the sky for a moment in a very carefree, un-Harry-like gesture that makes her wonder how much more of himself he keeps locked away and hidden from most people, and it makes her feel privileged that he's singled her out as the person with whom he wants to share this gentler, happier, passionate, intimate side of himself. “You make me feel younger, lighter and so _very_ happy,” he says, turning to face her once more, his eyes suddenly dark and filled with passion. “How did I manage without you for so long?” he murmurs, leaning towards her, his left hand rising to cup her cheek and bring her forwards to meet him as his lips capture hers in a fiery kiss. He doesn't let it last long out here in the open where anyone could see them if they ventured a little off the beaten path, but its intensity is such that it leaves her slightly dazed and she's still recovering from it when he growls softly, “I don't think I can do this, Ruth.”

“What?” she asks in alarm.

“I don't think I can wait two weeks to have you,” he clarifies in a voice that is so low, it sends shivers down her spine and turns the rest of her insides into mush, sending her brain on a brief, wonderful vacation to wonderland, or rather, Jane-Austen-land or some such place filled with romance, happy endings and rather a lot of x-rated images all centred around Harry. In fact, it has such a strong effect on her that she doesn't even object to the strong neanderthal undertones of the statement.

“You don't have to, Harry,” she whispers, almost adding that he can have her right here, right now if he wants to.

“No, but I _want_ to do it properly,” he sighs. “There must be a way. Tell me there's a solution, Ruth. You're my brilliant analyst. Tell me who I have to beg, bribe or threaten to marry you tomorrow.”

She laughs in surprise at the request, his unexpected response bringing her out of her daydreams, and she smiles at the earnest expression on his face as she replies, “I'll see what I can do.”

“Good,” he nods, “you do that.” Then he gets up and offers her his hand, adding, “Shall we?”

“Let's,” she agrees, getting to her feet and falling into step beside him as they make their way to Bond street to visit some jewellers.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay,” she says as she steps into his office and slides the door closed behind her. It's late and they're the only two people left on the Grid, but she's not taking any chances. “Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?”

“Sounds ominous,” he declares as he puts down his pen and lifts his eyes to hers. “The bad news. Let's get it over with.”

“There's no way we can get married in Britain in less than a fortnight,” she declares and watches as he groans, folds his arms on his desk, and drops his forehead onto them.

She smiles fondly as she hears him say in a muffled voice, “Please, tell me that there's _some_ place on earth where I can marry you sooner than that, Ruth... Just _please_ don't say it's Russia.”

“Нет, не Россия,” she laughs. “It's much closer than that. How's your Danish?”

He raises his head then and looks at her. “Denmark? That's not bad. It's close and they have a monarchy too. How soon?”

“Early next week?” she suggests. “There's this place that does express weddings. Actually there are several places that do it, but there's one that looks quite lovely, though it's a little pricey-” she adds worriedly.

“Money's not an object, Ruth,” he interrupts. “What do we need to do?”

“Book the place and accommodation, send over copies of various documents, bring witnesses if we want to, though they provide those too if needed, find a way to get there,” she lists. “The hardest I think will be to take leave at the same time and at such short notice.”

“I think your boss will be more than happy to grant you that, Ruth,” he smiles.

“Good,” she replies. “I'll fill in the paperwork now. What about the DG? Will he agree to give you time off?”

“Leave the DG to me, Ruth,” he nods. “I'll sort it out. Anything else?”

“Have you spoken to Catherine or Malcolm yet?” she asks.

“Not yet,” he replies. “I'll do that now. You'd better give me the info you have so far.”

“Consider it done,” she says as she turns towards the door. “I'll contact them and request Monday or Tuesday of this coming week, all right?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “The sooner the better, but I can manage to wait a few more days if I must.”

At the door, she turns and murmurs, “My place tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, giving her a big grin and following her with his eyes as she leaves his office and walks across the Grid.

 

* * *

 

He lies on his back next to her, his posture rigid as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. She watches him with a mixture of concern and frustration. Waiting is proving to be rather difficult for them both. “You okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Fine. Just...” He tails off not needing to explain further and there is silence for a few moments as he attempts to get himself under control once more.

“You know... I could help you with that,” she suggests quietly after a little bit, feeling the need to make the suggestion because, truthfully, she doesn't know how they'll manage to share a bed for the next three nights without getting _some_ relief. She hears his breathing hitch at her words, so she quickly clarifies, “I don't mean-”

“I know what you mean, Ruth,” he growls a little abruptly. “I'm fine... really.”

She sighs and rolls onto her back, leaning back against the pillows as she distracts herself from further thoughts of sex by going over the list of things she needs to do in the next two days in preparation for going away with Harry to get married. She still finds it hard to believe that they're actually doing this, that they're getting married and are going to live together, are effectively already living together. And yet in some ways it isn't hard at all. It's almost like her muscle memory's kicking in and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be sharing her life with a man again, and not just any man this time, but the one person she loves most in this world.

A few moments later, she hears Harry clear his throat and feels him turn onto his side to face her, murmuring, “I'd like to wait, Ruth, until after we're married to... have sex... any form of sex, but if you don't, I don't want to impose my... will on you. I could...” He tails off and she suddenly feels her heart overflow with love for him as she realises just how thoughtful he's being in offering to give her pleasure without receiving any himself. There aren't many men who would do that, she knows, and she can well imagine how hard it'll be for him to deny himself the same release if she accepts his offer.

“No, Harry,” she smiles as she turns to look at him with eyes full of love. “I can wait too. Truly, I don't mind and I certainly wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much if you gave me... pleasure and I wasn't allowed to reciprocate. I'd rather wait until we can both enjoy it... together.”

He nods and rolls back onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he sighs, “Perhaps it would be easier if we slept apart.”

“I'm sure it would, Harry,” she agrees, “but I quite like sleeping beside you, and if you can manage, I'd rather share a bed with you. But I don't want to... _torture_ you; you seem a little... tense.”

He chuckles softly and turns his head to look at her, saying, “You could say that... but don't worry; I can manage. I've waited so long to _be_ with you, Ruth, and I enjoy it so much, every part of it, that I don't mind experiencing a little... frustration. It's nothing I can't handle.”

“All right,” she smiles. “But if it gets too much, it's fine if we spend a few nights apart, Harry. Just let me know. We'll manage somehow.” She reaches her hand over to cup his face, rubbing her thumb softly against his cheek. “Now I think we should sleep before we end up kissing and touching each other again.”

“Yes,” he agrees, lifting his hand to cover hers as it rest against his cheek and holding it still while he turns his head and presses his lips against her palm. “Goodnight, Ruth,” he murmurs. Then releasing her hand, he twists his body round to turn off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she replies, searching for his hand in the dark and linking their fingers together when she finds it, before closing her eyes.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 “Good morning,” he smiles as she opens her eyes.

“Hi,” she hums and tilts her face up to receive his soft kiss. It takes a moment for her sluggish brain to kick into gear and for her to realise that this is the first time that she's woken up with Harry; yesterday he'd been in the shower already. She smiles at him happily as she murmurs, “I'm glad you're still in bed this morning. I missed waking up next to you yesterday.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “I had to get up rather urgently after having that extra cup of tea before bed. Seems we were wiser last night.”

“Indeed,” she replies and stretches before turning her head to look at the clock. It's half-past five again. “Do you always wake up this early?” she complains as she turns to look at him again.

“I'm afraid so,” he sighs. “Mike picks me up at six everyday though I cancelled for today; I said I'd drive myself into work. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't, I don't think,” she murmurs, reaching her hand over to stroke his cheek. “Besides, I love to wake up beside you, and if you'd left without waking me, I would have missed out on that.”

“Just let me know when the novelty wears off and you'd rather sleep in for a bit,” he smiles.

“I will,” she laughs. Then she leans back and reaches for her thermometer, turning it on and slipping it under her tongue.

“What are you doing?” he frowns. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She shakes her head as she turns to look at him and hums, “M mm. M mmm m mm mm mmm.”

“I've no clue what you just said,” he smiles, reaching his hand over to take her free hand in his and bringing it to his mouth where he begins to caress it softly with his lips, making her insides begin to heat up with desire. She moans and glimpses a wicked smile on his lips before she pulls her hand out of his grasp. The temperature reading will certainly not be accurate if she lets him continue _that_ for long.

The thermometer eventually beeps, signalling that it's done taking her temperature, so she pulls it out and glances at the display. Thirty six point seven. She smiles happily as she sits up, reaching for her chart from inside the drawer of the bedside table to record today's reading along with the one she took yesterday. When she's finished, she turns towards Harry and finds him watching her carefully. “What do you want to know?” she asks.

“Why are you recording your temperature, Ruth?” he asks with concern as he sits up beside her. “Are you ill?”

“No, Harry,” she smiles and glances swiftly down and back up at his face before adding, “It's a form of contraception.” The look of astonishment he gives her makes her laugh and eases her embarrassment a little. No holding back, she reminds herself as she drops her gaze and murmurs, “When I was at university, I went on the pill for a bit but I quickly discovered that it gave me quite nasty side effects, so I stopped taking it. I've been reluctant to try it again ever since, so when I was in Cyprus and I...” She pauses, swallowing uncomfortably as she searches for a way to avoid mentioning George.

“Met George,” he murmurs softly.

“Yes,” she nods and raises her eyes to his, marvelling at how calm he seems and how understanding.

“It's okay, Ruth,” he says, reaching over to take her hand and cradle it between his own. “I've no more right to be upset about you living with another man while we were apart, than you have that I was married once before. You made a life for yourself away from here, a place you left and couldn't return to, a place you left to protect _me_. It was right for you to try to move on and it would be churlish of me to hold it against you, especially since _I_ was the reason you left in the first place.”

“But I couldn't, Harry,” she sighs, clasping his right hand tightly. “I tried, but I couldn't. Not really. It was a façade. I never moved on from you. My life was simple and elegant, but it was empty too without you to share it with.”

He smiles, reaching up to stroke her cheek softly as they stare into each other's eyes. “I love you,” he murmurs eventually. “I don't say it nearly enough, but I do. I love you, Ruth Evershed.”

She nods, blinking back tears, not trusting herself to speak as he holds her gaze for what seems like an eternity. Eventually he smiles and murmurs, “So you were saying?”

She drops her gaze to her chart then that's still lying on her lap and clears her throat, saying, “Yes. Right. Um... so I learned about natural family planning while I was away. I took a class on it and have used what I learned there ever since. That's what this is.”

“How does it work?” he asks as he drops his gaze to her chart too. She throws him a furtive glance, but all she sees in his face is real interest along with a twinge of embarrassment, and she realises that he's trying to be open too and it warms her heart and gives her the courage to explain it to him.

“Well,” she says, wondering how much about the female reproductive cycle he actually knows, “there are two hormones involved in the female reproductive cycle. Actually, there are more, but let's focus on just two to keep things simple: oestrogen and progesterone. Oestrogen is responsible for causing menstruation and for making the eggs mature, but once an egg, or sometimes two eggs, are released, the follicle that's left behind starts to produce progesterone, which among other things, delays the onset of menstruation long enough for a fertilised egg to implant in the uterus. Once the egg has implanted it produces it's own progesterone, thus delaying menstruation and the release of any other eggs until the baby's born. But the progesterone also has several other effects on a woman's body, one of which is to raise her basal body temperature by two tenths or so of a degree. So I measure my basal body temperature every morning before I get up, so I can work out when I've ovulated and when I'm no longer fertile and can have unprotected sex.”

“Oh,” he murmurs and she can hear his breathing change, but she doesn't have the courage to turn and look at him.

“Not that I _do_ obviously,” she hastens to add as she feels her cheeks heat up. “At least not... not unless I'm in a committed, monogamous relationship. It's just... well, it's become a bit of a habit now, to be honest, and it only takes a moment to do it when I wake up every morning, so I just... _do_. And it's nice to know exactly when to expect my period...” She tails off in embarrassment, realising that she's babbling.

A few seconds pass in silence and then he clears his throat and asks, “So... when exactly _can_ you...?” He tails off, but she knows what he's asking.

“The night of the third day after my temperature rises above the cover-line,” she states, relieved to be back on safer ground again.

“Cover line?” he asks.

“You take the last six readings before the temperature shifts up and draw a line above them,” she explains. “Otherwise you can't be sure that it's a real shift in temperature caused by ovulation; it might be just a fluke, the result of a late night out, or the beginning of a cold, or something.”

He glances down at her chart and she's impressed when he says, “Tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” she smiles.

“So if we had unprotected sex any time before then, you'd conceive?” he asks and she can feel his eyes on her.

“Quite likely, yes,” she nods.

“This is brilliant, Ruth,” he smiles and she can't help turning to look at him this time. He looks thrilled to have discovered something so simple. “What about before?”

“Before I ovulate?” she asks and watches him nod. “Well, that's the tricky part. There are other... indicators of fertility.” She hesitates, not feeling brave enough to discuss vaginal secretions or cervical position with him just yet and deciding to just gloss over that bit for now. “But because sperm can survive inside a woman's body for up to five days if the conditions are right,” she says instead, “I've always felt it's wise to use a condom to be on the safe side.”

“And after you... ovulate, how many days until your...?”

“Period starts?” she smiles fondly at his embarrassment in saying the words. It's nice that he's taking an interest though. She can't imagine many men of his generation would. “It varies a little, but usually it's twelve days, which leaves about nine days of free sex, plus the first five days of a new cycle are also free sex days.”

He glances back down at the chart and then looks back up at her and smiles. “Looks like we've planned our wedding perfectly then,” he says with a cheeky grin, making her laugh.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, you must be Catherine,” she smiles as she stops by the table at which she's sitting, recognising the young woman before her from photographs she's seen at Harry's house. “I'm Ruth.”

“Hello,” she smiles, getting up and taking her hand in a firm handshake, “I'm so pleased to meet you.”

“Me too,” Ruth replies with a smile as they take a seat. “I wish I could say that I've heard a lot about you, but you know what your father's like.”

“Yes,” she laughs. “He can be very cagey. I'm surprised he mentioned me at all.”

“He's very proud of you, you know,” she reassures quickly. “Actually, I've come to realise that it's an indicator of how much he cares. He won't share anything about those he loves most. It's his way of protecting them.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Catherine nods thoughtfully. “Though I can't say that it was a very wise move where Graham and I are concerned.”

“Maybe not,” Ruth concedes. “It did keep you safe though. You can't argue with that.”

“But at what cost?” she murmurs softly, almost as if talking to herself, and Ruth feels her heart go out to the young woman before her. The waiter arrives just then, so she turns to him and places her order for lunch before sitting back and waiting for Catherine to do the same. She'd had this idea to meet Catherine for lunch today after Harry had told her that she's accepted his invitation to attend their wedding the day after tomorrow in Denmark. It seemed important that their first meeting didn't occur on her wedding day when her focus will be entirely on marring the man she loves. So she'd asked Harry for her number, called her up, and was pleased at the enthusiasm with which Catherine had accepted.

“Dad sounded so happy on the phone,” Catherine says as soon as the waiter leaves. “I almost didn't recognise his voice.”

“We _are_ happy,” she smiles. “Very happy.”

“I hadn't heard from him in ages, and then, out of the blue, he calls to tell me he's getting married and would I like to be a witness,” she shakes her head. “He'd mentioned you before, years ago, when you had to leave the country, but he never even let on you were back, let alone dating him!”

“I wasn't... dating him, that is,” Ruth replies, sensing the anger Catherine's feeling towards her father for keeping her in the dark and wanting to dispel it quickly. How does one explain the complexity of her relationship with Harry, she wonders as she looks out the window and thinks back to their one and only date.

“I can see you're going to be as open about this as Dad,” Catherine mutters under her breath after a few moments of silence, making her laugh.

“Sorry,” she apologises. “What I mean to say is that we'd only been on one date, before I left in fact, and I'd recently refused his proposal, so we weren't really together... though his feelings, and mine, never really changed.”

“You refused him?!” she frowns. “Well, that certainly clears _that_ up. I'm pretty sure he said he's getting married to _you_ though.”

Ruth laughs again, declaring, “D'you know you have exactly the same dry sense of humour as he does?” Catherine shakes her head smiling softly as she continues. “I'll see if I can be a little more clear. We've known each other for years; he's my boss.” Catherine raises her eyebrows at that, so she smiles and adds, “Exactly. So you can imagine that, for a long time, neither of us thought it was a good idea to explore our mutual attraction. Eventually, however, we couldn't fight it any more and your father asked me out. I accepted and we had a lovely time. Unfortunately, people at work found out about it, and I panicked, braking it off before it had really began. I still remember the look on your father's face...” She tales off, lost in the memory for a moment, before shaking herself free of it and continuing, “Anyway, soon after that, I had to leave the country, anticipating that I'd never be able to return. It was to do with work, the reason I had to go.”

“He told me about you,” she says, “when he found me in Lebanon. We talked quite a bit while I was recovering, and he was much more open than usual. He told me he'd lost someone and he looked so heartbroken and... lost that I was really rather angry at you for hurting him, but he wouldn't let me say anything against you. He was adamant that it wasn't your fault and that, in fact, you'd sacrificed yourself to protect him.”

“He was needed here to stand up for what's right,” Ruth murmurs quietly. Then after a momentary hesitation, she adds, “I think I would have done it anyway even if I hadn't been in love with him, but loving him so much made it easier to make the decision... and so much harder to follow through with it when he came to say goodbye.” She pauses for a moment overwhelmed by emotion before she clears her throat and says, “Anyway, I came back last year, again because of work. The circumstances were... incredibly hard and it took us both time to recover from what happened and to regain some level of normality. I went back to work and things were going well until we lost another colleague, someone Harry was very close to. He... reacted quite badly to the loss, and in amongst his grief, he proposed and I... had to turn him down.”

“God, he's hopeless!” Catherine exclaims in exasperation. “Did he honestly think you'd say yes after he'd taken you out once, five years ago?!”

“I don't think he was thinking straight,” Ruth smiles. “Anyway, we've worked things out since then, though now that you mention it, I think he owes me rather a lot of dates. I'm hoping he has something planned for tonight. Both of us have taken leave starting tomorrow, though unbeknown to him, I've managed to skive off this afternoon too; I need to buy a dress.”

“Oh, would you like some help?” Catherine offers immediately. “I could spare a couple of hours if you like.”

“Would you?” she smiles. “That would be fantastic.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Would you like to dance, Ruth?” he smiles, leaning towards her and offering her his hand.

“I'm not sure, Harry,” she replies. “I think I've had a little too much wine to manage it with any kind of grace in these heels.”

“If that was a clever ploy to have me look at your legs, Ruth,” he murmurs as he leans further forward and looks down, “it's working.” She laughs and watches as his eyes slide up her bare legs to her knees and up over her new, silky burgundy dress that she'd bought today with Catherine's help and at her insistence, caressing her curves delightfully and pausing to dip down into her cleavage that's tastefully displayed by the scoop neckline of her dress, before moving up over her bare neck to her face and finally her eyes again. “Have I told you that you're breathtaking tonight?” he asks huskily.

“You have,” she replies a little breathlessly, the way he's been looking at her sending her heart rate soaring and kindling her desire. She glances down appreciatively at his dapper dark suit and golden tie before adding, “You look quite delectable yourself.”

“Thank you,” he grins as he gets up and holds out his hand for her to take, pulling her to her feet and murmuring near her ear, “Don't worry, Ruth. Just lean on me. I won't let you stumble. Besides, that's why I brought you hear tonight... to dance. If I can't make love to you until Monday night, than this is the next best thing.”

“All right,” she smiles, feeling a shiver run down her spine as she lets him lead her to the dance floor, “but don't say I didn't warn you if I step on your toes.”

“Relax, darling, I know exactly what I'm doing,” he murmurs against her ear as he takes her into his arms and begins to move in time to the slow music.

“And what's that?” she asks a little breathlessly as his proximity begins to make her feel giddy with desire again.

“Dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room,” he replies before he steps back and guides her in a graceful spin.

“I'm not-” she begins when he slips his arm round her waist again.

“You are,” he interrupts. “And I assure you, I'm not exaggerating. Surely you've noticed the way every person in this room is looking at you tonight? Every single man here would swap places with me in a heartbeat. You're radiant, Ruth.”

“And every woman in this room with me,” she replies. “I've seen the way they all look at you at every function you attend, and there are always a few brave enough to make a move. I bet you get propositioned a lot.”

He smiles for a moment before he murmurs, “I didn't realise you'd kept such a close eye on me, Ruth.”

“Always,” she admits, hiding her face against his shoulder.

They move in silence for a few moments and then he says, “I used to enjoy the attention and I often accepted such offers in the past, but since _you_ joined my section, I've stopped... I've never really connected the two until now. I know it wasn't love at first sight for me. You grew on me and got under my skin in such a subtle, spook like way, Ruth, that by the time I realised what you'd done, it was too late; I was already more deeply in love than ever before. But even before I loved you, you changed me. You made me realise that integrity is important in what we do and who we are. And now...” He pulls back to look at her and his eyes are so full of love that they take her breath away. “I don't even look any more,” he murmurs huskily, “You're all I can see, Ruth. You're all I _want_ to see.”

“Harry,” she sighs, “you say the most romantic things.”

“Only because they're true,” he replies before he spins her again and they dance in silence, enjoying the way their bodies sensually move together in perfect harmony. He was right, she thinks as she smiles up at him, this is the next best thing to making love.

When the dance ends and while they wait for the next song to begin, a tall, good looking man with smokey grey eyes and dark hair, turning grey at the temples, approaches them, saying, “Mind if I cut in?”

She feels Harry's hands tighten their hold on her as he looks at the younger man before him, and feels the anger rise inside him at being interrupted, so she swiftly puts an end to it by declaring, “Actually, I do. I only intend to dance with one man tonight.”

The man looks surprised, but he has the sense to back off with a shrug and move away, searching for a beautiful partner elsewhere. Harry, however, doesn't shrug off the interruption as easily and she can still feel the tension in him even as the music starts and he leads her faultlessly in another dance. “Harry?” she whispers softly and smiles as he turns his head to look at her. “Forget him.”

“That's easy for you to say, Ruth,” he growls.

“Yes,” she smiles, “and it's easy to do too. He might be the kindest, most beautiful man in the world to everyone else, but to me, he's entirely forgettable. How could he not be when I have you?”

He smiles at that and nods his head, reaching down to press his lips against hers softly before he pulls back and dances with her until they're both completely dead on their feet. Then he takes her home to his bed and they fall asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow, curled around each other, too exhausted to move.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up this time, it's half past seven, a much more reasonable time she thinks as she stretches. Harry's not in bed, so she checks her temperature, gets up and goes to the bathroom, slipping on her new fluffy turquoise robe she'd bought and washed yesterday, and her matching slippers. She'd actually bought quite a lot of things in the end, feeling like indulging herself with lots of beautiful clothes, shoes and accessories now that she has someone to look good for every day. Besides, she hasn't bought herself anything new since right after she'd started work at section D again and her things had arrived from Cyprus, so she feels entitled to spoil herself a bit.

After her very successful lunch with Catherine and shopping expedition for new clothes, she'd come back to her house and done a couple of loads of laundry in preparation for her trip, before grabbing a few things she'd need for spending the night at Harry's and getting ready for her date with him. They'd had a lovely time and had been so tired when they'd got home that the whole abstinence thing hadn't even been an issue last night. Luckily, Beth won't be back from her parents' until this afternoon, so she has the morning to pack for her trip, and if there's time, to think about what she might want to move to Harry's house, where they've decided to live for now. It seems silly to spend the time and effort to sell and buy something new right now, so they'd agreed to wait until Harry retires to do that, when she hopes they can move out of London to somewhere lovely, perhaps along the coast. They haven't really talked about that, however; there's really no rush.

She steps into the hall and begins to descend the stairs, following the heavenly smell of bacon to the kitchen where Harry's busy preparing breakfast. He doesn't see her at first, so she has a few moments to watch him unobserved as he dishes out the bacon on plates before he carefully breaks four eggs into the pan, all the while whistling happily to himself. Once the eggs are spluttering away, he pulls open the grill, checking on the bangers he has there and turning them over with a fork before sliding it closed again and popping the sliced bread in the toaster. It's only when he pours the boiling water into the teapot and turns to put it on the table that he spots her, almost jumping out of his skin as he exclaims, “Hells bells, Ruth!” luckily managing not to spill the tea or drop the teapot.

“Sorry,” she smiles as she moves close, watching as he puts down the teapot and turns towards her, pulling her into his arms.

“Good morning,” he smiles and kisses her soft lips, making her hum in satisfaction.

“Good morning, my lovely man,” she replies as he pulls back to look at her.

“This is nice,” he says, fingering her soft robe. “I haven't seen it before.”

“It's new,” she smiles. “I did a bit of shopping yesterday.”

“It looks good on you,” he murmurs as his hands slip round her sides to her back and glide smoothly down to the rise of her bum.

“But not as good as it would look off me?” she grins as she feels his hands move lower still.

“Mmmm,” he hums and she notices his breathing is suddenly heavier. “No. Nothing can look as good as that.” His hands move round to the front of her robe and begin to fumble with the cord as his lips find the sensitive spot behind her ear.

How the hell does he know about _that_ particular spot, she wonders dimly as she moans, fighting against the desire that's already ignited inside her and is beginning to spread through her like wildfire. If she doesn't do something fast, she realises, she won't be able to stop, so she quickly pulls back, saying, “Oh no, you don't. Tomorrow, Harry. You have to wait until tomorrow.” He groans at her words and closes his eyes, so she takes pity on him and adds, “Harry, I think the eggs are burning,” trying to distract him from further thoughts of sex.

He quickly opens his eyes at that and moves away, tuning off the ring and grill and serving the eggs, bacon, sausages, and grilled tomatoes on plates which he puts on the table along with the toast, butter, marmalade and jam. Then they sit down to eat the wonderful breakfast he's prepared and plan the rest of their day.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning, Ruth,” he smiles and leans forward to press a soft kiss against her lips. “Sleep well?”

“No,” she sighs, “I couldn't fall asleep for ages without you near.”

His smile broadens and he leans forward to kiss her once more before murmuring, “Let's hope that that's the last night we ever spend apart.”

“Yes,” she smiles and steps back to let him into the house. In the end, they'd agreed that they should spend last night, Sunday night, the final night before their wedding, apart. It was traditional as Harry had pointed out and it had made it easier for them both to pack and get ready, as well as, in theory, making it easier for them to sleep without the physical temptation of the other's presence. In practice, however, it hadn't worked so well, at least not for her.

“Where's Beth?” he asks softly as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Still asleep, I think,” she shrugs. “Give me a moment and I'll be ready to go. I just need to nip to the loo.”

“All right,” he nods and she can feel his eyes on her bum as she walks away, swaying her bottom a little more than usual and hearing the way his breath catches in his throat with great satisfaction. “Tease,” she hers him growl and turns to give him a cheeky grin before disappearing into the bathroom. Just over twelve hours to go, she tells herself.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Malcolm,” she smiles and steps forward to embrace him. “How are you?”

“Hello, Ruth,” he replies giving her one of his lovely half-smiles. “I'm exceptionally glad that you two have finally got your act together.”

“Aren't we all?” Harry smiles, reaching forward to shake Malcolm's hand. “Malcolm. It's good of you to come.”

“I wouldn't have missed it for the world,” he replies.

“Malcolm, this is my daughter, Catherine,” Harry says then as Catherine steps forward and shakes Malcolm's hand. “Catherine, one of my best friends, Malcolm.” Ruth watches as a blush spreads up the other man's face at the complement, smiling happily and linking her arm through Harry's while Malcolm and Catherine exchange pleased-to-meet-yous. She can't quite believe that in less than eleven hours they will finally belong to each other completely.

“Shall we check in?” Harry asks and they all nod their agreement as they move towards the check-in desk to their right.

On the plane, she sits next to Harry behind Catherine and Malcolm who, quite surprisingly, seem to be enjoying each other's company, or at least the opportunity to converse with another intelligent human being for the duration of the flight. She and Harry don't talk much, but their touch alone conveys everything they want and need to say. He's currently got his eyes closed and is leaning back, his hand clasping hers gently as he traces patterns across the back of it with the fingertips of his other hand. She's never before known a touch that could simultaneously arouse and calm her, make her feel agitated and yet safe, reassure and excite her all at once. She sighs as she leans towards him, resting her head on his shoulder and hearing him hum in pleasure. Just nine or so hours to go, she thinks, and only seven until the wedding. She frowns as the thought crosses her mind and wonders if it was a mistake to let Harry have his way and then promptly groans at the images that take over her mind at that thought. Clearly a poor choice of words, she thinks. Perhaps it had been unwise to wait to have sex if all she can focus on is how soon she can have him rather than their wedding. She sits up, pulling her hand from his grasp to open the bottle of water that she's lodged in the mesh pocket in front of her and taking several gulps of the cool liquid, trying to tame her desire and calm her racing heart. Then she turns towards him and finds his eyes on her, dark and intense, and a knowing smile on his lips.

“Water?” she asks, offering him the bottle.

“A cold shower might be more appropriate, but this'll have to do,” he winks as he takes the bottle from her hand and brings it to his lips. She watches him drink, envying the bottle's proximity to his lips and the water sliding down his throat, marvelling at how every single thing the man does is erotic to the extreme. Get a grip, Ruth, she tells herself as he stops drinking and hands the bottle back, leaning towards her and murmuring, “Thanks,” before pressing his lips softly against her cheek.

The impulse to groan in pleasure and pull him close for a full on snog and so much more is overpowering, and it's only the thought of what Malcolm and Catherine would say if she _did_ that holds her back. He smiles at her as he pulls back, his eyes twinkling in mischief as he whispers huskily, “Just over seven hours left, Ruth.”

She glances at her watch and objects, “Exactly seven, Harry.”

“For the wedding, yes,” he grins and winks at her, making her blush. “And that will surely not last more than half an hour, and then...” he raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“As desperate as you might be, Harry,” she whispers, watching as he lifts one eyebrow in disbelief, making her smile and add, “All right, as we _both_ are, we can't go to bed at four thirty in the afternoon!”

“No,” he concedes, “but we'll have to go back to our room to change before sightseeing a little and the wedding breakfast.”

“Oh thank, God,” she sighs. “That's pure genius... and here I was worrying that I'd have to drag you off to some broom cupboard to have my way with you right after the ceremony.”

He laughs at that, making her smile and Catherine and Malcolm both turn round to look at him, surprise and pleasure written all over their faces. Now if only she could find a way to make him laugh like that more often.

 

* * *

 

The crossing on the ferry is her favourite part of the trip so far, and though the air's a little chilly, she loves that she's here with Harry, Catherine and Malcolm. It's so different from the last time she was on a boat on her way to Cyprus, scared and alone.

“It's so beautiful,” Catherine murmurs in awe on her left.

“Isn't it?” she smiles, sighing in contentment.

“And the weather's lovely,” Catherine adds. It's true; there isn't a rain cloud in sight. “I love April,” she continues. “If I ever get married, I'll marry in April.”

“April's my favourite month too,” Ruth agrees, “but then I'm biased; I was born at the end of it.”

“When?” Catherine asks.

“Just four days after your birthday,” she smiles. “Don't worry, we haven't forgotten. We have something very special planned for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Catherine smiles. “And thanks for not choosing to get married on my birthday. I like that your anniversary will be the day before though. It'll be easy to remember.”

“Yes, well,” she murmurs, fighting to suppress a smile, “your father was rather desperate to do it soon... We both were.”

“I've noticed he can't take his eyes off you for more than a minute,” she smiles. “It's rather sweet.”

“Probably afraid I'll change my mind,” she laughs. “Poor man. I'm afraid I've made him somewhat insecure.”

“My father insecure? No way,” she shakes her head. “You're just keeping him on his toes. It's good for him. He needs the excitement. I should know; I'm just like him. I get bored with routine. He's lucky he's found you, someone to always challenge him and maintain his interest.”

“Thank you,” she replies, turning her head to look at her soon to be step-daughter, struck by her maturity and her skill at reading people. Like father, like daughter, she thinks with a smile. Then seeing the far off, wistful look in Catherine's eyes she adds, “You'll find someone too. I know you will.”

She turns to look at her and smiles, saying, “I just hope it doesn't take me as long as Dad, or you'll have to rely on Graham for grandchildren.”

She laughs and replies, “It won't. You know what you want, whereas your father squandered away many years trying to work it out. You've won half the battle already, and when you do find him, you'll not waste any time like we did.”

Catherine nods, looking away for a moment before turning suddenly back and asking, “What happened to Chris? You know, the guy who was spying on me way back when you were investigating the November committee.”

“Danny,” she smiles sadly as she turns to look away over the water for a moment before turning back and murmuring, “He was killed in the line of duty a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Catherine says in surprise turning way to gaze across the water. “I'm sorry. He was nice; I liked him... His name was Danny?”

“Danny Hunter,” she smiles sadly. “He _was_ nice... and very brave; he died protecting one of his colleagues.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all of you for reading and especially to those who've taken the time to review. Almost there now. Just a couple more chapters to go before what we're all looking forward to takes place, or at least, what Harry and Ruth are anticipating with great relish and not a little impatience. Just wanted to mention that, unfortunately, I've never been to Denmark, though I would love to visit one day. All the places described here are creations of my own imagination after some on-line research and viewing many photos, therefore, any resemblance of any characters to real people is purely coincidental. Feel free to PM me with any concerns you might have or inaccuracies you find. Hope you continue to enjoy. Cheers, S.C.

“Oh wow, Dad! It's gorgeous,” Catherine exclaims as they get out of the car and gaze at the picturesque town of Ærøskøbing spread out all around them. It really does look like a place out of a fairytale with its cobblestone streets, low houses painted in bright colours - red, yellow, white, blue and green - the red shingle covered, high pitched roofs, the ornate, metal benches scattered here and there, and the few bicycles lying propped up against the walls.

“I had little to do with it,” Harry confesses as he turns to smile at Ruth. “It's all Ruth's doing.”

“Well,” she smiles, “you did assign me the task of finding a venue, so I did what I could.”

“You did very well, Ruth,” Malcolm says. “It's marvellous.”

They leave the car by the quay, deciding to walk to the hotel that isn't far. Luckily they don't have a lot of luggage, so they each grab their suitcase and set off, Harry insisting on carrying Ruth's as well as his own. She lets him take it, not wanting to upset him by arguing, but unable to resist the temptation to move close and murmur in his ear, “Just so long as you save some of your strength for later,” and laughing at the look on his face.

They walk down the main street in silence, their attention completely taken up by the beauty of their surroundings. When they reach the large, two story building that dates back to the late eighteenth century, they enter and are greeted very warmly by Rachel, the British woman who runs the inn, and after a short tour of downstairs, are shown to their rooms.

“Oh, it's beautiful,” Ruth exclaims as she follows Rachel into their room ahead of Harry. The room is entirely decorated in cream and yellow, the red carpet and fresh flowers on the table near the window being the only splashes of colour. There's a comfy looking sofa on their left, and straight ahead are two large windows which have window seats and fill the room with light. Between them is a little table for two with matching chairs and the bed's large and looks very comfy.

“I'm glad you like it,” Rachel smiles. “I shall leave you to freshen up a bit and make that reservation for you at Addis's for a quick lunch. You'll need to be back here just before three for everything to run smoothly.”

“Thank you so much, Rachel,” Ruth smiles and turns toward her suitcase, saying, “Just a second. I have something for you.” She kneels down and undoes the zip, carefully pulling out a round box, about the size of her hand. “Here you go,” she smiles as she hands it over. “A small thank you for all your help.”

“Thank you,” Rachel smiles and lifts the lid, exclaiming in surprise. “Marmite! Oh, you lovely girl. How did you know?”

“Helen told me,” she replies and accepts the hug Rachel gives her before she leaves the room.

When she turns around, she finds Harry watching her intently, a small smile playing on his lips. “What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, taking a step closer and placing his hands on her hips as he stares into her eyes. “Just you. You're truly the most wonderful person I know, Ruth, and I can't believe how lucky I am.”

She blushes, still unused to him giving her complements, before she murmurs, “Thank you. You're quite lovely yourself.”

He scrunches up his face a little at that before giving her a gorgeous pout and objecting, “Lovely? Hardly a very masculine word that, Ruth, is it?”

She laughs softly and leans in to brush her lips against his before replying, “I do love you, Harry Pearce, and though I would be very happy to list all the wonderful and very masculine things I adore about you, you'll have to wait until later because, more than anything else, I  _ _ really  _ _ want to marry you. So we have to eat soon if we're to have enough time to get ready; I'm going to need at least an hour for that.”

“Deal,” he grins and leans forward to kiss her, a brief, passionate kiss, full of love, longing, and a promise of things to come. “I love you,” he murmurs huskily when he pulls back.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Me too. Now let's go. I'm starved.”

 

* * *

 

They have a lovely meal and then return to the hotel with plenty of time to spare. When they enter their room, Harry grabs his suitcase to take to Malcolm's room in order to give her space and some privacy to get ready. “I shouldn't really see you before the wedding,” he murmurs as he leans in for a soft, tender kiss.

She smiles when he pulls back, sighing happily as she whispers, “I'll see you at the registry office at four then.”

“Yes,” he nods, presses his lips to hers once more, “but before I go, I have something for you.” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a coin, holding it out to her in his palm. “For luck,” he says.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighs again, her eyes dancing with love, “that's so terribly sweet. Where did you even find it?”

“I've had it for ages,” he confesses. “My dad was a coin collector.”

She smiles as she takes it from his hand and looks at it. “It's the real thing, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he nods. “A one-hundred-percent silver sixpence, minted in 1912.”

She looks up at him, unable to stop smiling as she murmurs, “You're going to make me put it in my shoe, aren't you?” He frowns, so she reaches her hand forward to cup his cheek and adds, “Good job I chose closed shoes instead of sandals, isn't it?”

“Indeed,” he nods, smiling softly. “Anyway, I'll leave you to it. I'll see if Malcolm wants to go for a walk in lieu of a stag night, which I seem to have overlooked this time round.”

“I'm sorry,” she frowns. “I didn't even think of that.”

“Don't be,” he says. “You're not the one who's supposed to think of it. Anyway, the one I had last time was... Well, let's just say that Bill knew how to have a good time and I don't think I sobered up until several days after the wedding. I can assure you, I never again want to repeat the experience; once in a lifetime is more than enough... Besides, I want to be entirely  _ _ compos mentis  _ _ when I marry you and make love to you for the first time, my Ruth.” Then he seals his intention with a kiss before stepping back, and with one final look at her, leaving the room, suitcase in tow.

“Right,” Ruth says to herself, shaking her head to clear it from the fuzziness that Harry's proximity and terribly old-fashioned romantic notions produce; it would be far too easy to spend the entire day in a daydream if she's not careful. “Time to get my hair done. Where's Catherine?”

As if on cue, Catherine appears just then, knocking on the door frame and stepping through the open door. “Ready?” she asks.

“Yes,” Ruth smiles.

“Let's get this show on the road then,” Catherine grins back.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The look on Harry's face as she walks into the room is worth the effort she's put into getting ready ten times over. He looks stunned and she could have sworn that his jaw went slack for several moments before he recovered and his eyes began running over her appreciatively with barely masked desire. She's wearing a simple, ice blue wedding dress with thin straps over her shoulders, fanning out into an overlapping bodice that tastefully displays her cleavage and is much more revealing than is usual for her. The material tapers down to her waist, the right side swooping round to her left, where it's gathered in folds decorated with shimmering, ice blue beads that catch the light and sparkle. From there, the dress seamlessly glides over her hips and swoops down to the floor, a few pleats here and there giving it the illusion of flowing water. She'd fallen in love with it the moment she'd seen it and Catherine had been adamant that  _this_ was  _the_ dress for her. 

On her feet, she's wearing a pair of silver flats that she's had for ages in the back of her wardrobe and she's hardly worn at all because, normally, she wears boots or heals, and she can feel the silver sixpence nestled inside her right shoe. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe, she thinks with a smile; she's got everything covered. Her wedding dress is blue, and her matching underwear is new; Catherine's lent her a beautiful, silver necklace with one, large, clear blue stone dangling just above her cleavage, she's wearing her special mother of pearl ring that has been in her family for three generations, and Harry's sixpence is in her shoe. Perfect.

“Ruth,” he murmurs huskily as she stops beside him and turns to face him, “you look... stunning.”

“Thanks you,” she smiles. “You look rather dashing yourself.” And he does, dressed in a light grey, three piece suit with a crisp white shirt and silver-grey tie. “I love you in a grey suit.”

“I know,” he smiles and at her puzzled frown adds, “You mentioned it some time ago to Sam and I... overheard.”

“And you remembered?” she asks in surprise. She remembers having a conversation about the men on the Grid one day, discussing their looks and wardrobe. Harry had been wearing a light grey suit on that occasion and she'd mentioned how much she thought it suited him. Harry had been across the Grid talking to Adam at the time, so he can't have overheard her on that occasion. Perhaps she'd said it more than once, though it would have been most unlike her. She'd never really confided in anyone about her Harry crush and she used to stay clear of conversations that might betray her partiality to anyone. Perhaps Sam had told him about it. She wouldn't put it past her to make a thoughtless remark to him, saying something like, “I like your suit, Harry. Ruth and I were agreeing that you look good in a light grey suit.” She'll have to ask him about it sometime.

“Yes,” he nods, interrupting her musings.

She leans forward and kisses his smooth cheek softly, feeling touched that he's remember something like that after all this time. Then she whispers in his ear, “Did I also happen to mention that I love you in braces?” her musings having reminded her of how sexy she'd always thought him in braces and how much she'd wanted to just reach forward and twang them on occasion. He hasn't worn them in a while now, opting for a belt instead, just as he's stopped wearing a waistcoat too.

His eyes widen in surprise at her remark and he takes a moment to clear his throat before he replies, “No, but... it appears that I can read your mind today.” Then he pulls back smirking before giving her hand a squeeze and turning towards the official who's finally turned to face them and is waiting patiently to begin.

“Ready?” the man asks.

“Yes,” they both answer in unison.

 

* * *

 

His kiss is soft and chaste, but she can feel the undercurrent of emotion that's running through him, through them both, a current so powerful that she half expects there to be sparks flying through the air, or tremors shaking the earth under their feet.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls back and his eyes are filled with a passion and love so intense as to leave her unable to breathe. All sound is sucked from the air in that moment and she feels herself falling towards him, drawn by an irresistible force. His arm wraps around her waist securely, pulling her into his embrace, one warm palm pressing against the small of her back and the other cupping her cheek as he smiles down at her and then presses his cheek against hers, whispering in her ear, “A few more minutes, my love, and then we'll be together in every way, always. Let's sign the register.”

She feels his lips press softly against her cheek and takes a deep breath to steady herself, feeling him release her slowly and turn towards their left.

“Congratulations, Dad!” Catherine exclaims, giving him a warm hug.

“Thank you, Sweetheart,” he smiles as she steps back, running his hands down her arms and clasping her hands in his, adding, “You look gorgeous, Catherine.” And she does in the simple, halter neck, royal blue, satin, backless, floor length dress, embellished with sequins and rhinestones.

“Thanks, Dad,” she smiles. “You look rather smart yourself,” she winks and squeezes his hands before letting go and enveloping Ruth in a warm hug. “Congratulations, Ruth. You look radiant. You almost had me in tears a moment ago as you exchanged vows. They were beautiful. Thank you for making Dad so happy.”

“He makes me happy too, Catherine,” she replies, her voice cracking slightly. She squeezes her step-daughter tightly and then pulls back, clearing her throat and adding, “I'm so glad you came.” Then she turns to Malcolm who's standing quietly in front of Harry having congratulated him already and adds, “Both of you. I'm so glad you're here to celebrate with us.”

He smiles a lopsided smile and steps forward to embrace her, murmuring, “Congratulations, Ruth. I wouldn't have missed this for the world. It was beautiful and you look lovely.”

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she smiles, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“Come on, you lot,” Harry grumbles just then, and as they turn to look at him, they see that he's already standing in front of the low table to their right, brandishing a pen. “Fat lot of good you are as witnesses if you take forever to sign the register.”

“What's the rush, Dad?” Catherine teases. “It's not as if we'll leave without signing.”

“Don't even think about it,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at her and making her laugh.

“Relax, Dad,” she smiles. “I wouldn't dream of it. I happen to really like Ruth and the person you become when you're with her.”

“Hear, hear,” Malcolm calls. “However, it took them so long to get here, Catherine, that we'd better sign quickly before something else occurs to delay it further.”

“Fat chance of that happening,” Catherine winks, “not when the best part's still to come, and I'm not talking about the wedding breakfast.”

Malcolm and Harry both look completely stunned for several moments and Ruth can't help it; she bursts out laughing, unable to contain her mirth at the look on their faces. Soon Catherine joins in and both women have tears in their eyes by the time they manage to get themselves under control again. “Oh, God, Catherine,” she gasps eventually. “That was priceless.”

“It was. It's ruined my make up though,” Catherine complains as she dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “Does it look bad?”

“You both look lovely,” Harry replies quickly, adding in exasperation, “Now can you _please_ get over here so that we can get this damned thing signed already?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

 The door closes with a snap behind her, the sound almost making her jump. Suddenly she's unaccountably filled with nerves and she has to swallow hard and sternly tell herself off before she can pluck up the courage to turn and face him.

He's standing a few feet behind her, his arms hanging loosely at his sides and yet, despite his apparently relaxed posture, he seems to suddenly take up the entire room. It must be his eyes, she thinks as she stares into them, unable to look away from his intense gaze as he watches her.

Her mouth is suddenly dry and she finds herself almost trembling with a mixture of nerves, excitement and desire. She almost can't believe that they're here, that they've finally tied the knot and  are going to make love after so many years of waiting and wanting, dreaming and longing for each other. Her chest is rising and falling fast now and she can hear the blood pounding in her ears as her pulse escalates with every passing moment. 

“Alone at last,” he murmurs softly in his deepest voice, making her shiver.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over her erratic heartbeat.

She watches him take a measured step forwards, his eyes never leaving hers. “Ruth?” he murmurs softly. “Are you scared of me, my Ruth?”

“No,” she shakes her head, frowning at him in concern. “No, Harry.”

Slowly he closes the gap between them until just a foot or so remains as he says, “I'm not going to hurt you, Ruth. I'm not going to do anything that you don't want. This is just like any other night... well, afternoon actually, but you get my point.” He reaches for her hands, checking her fidgeting that she hadn't even realised she was doing. “I just want to hold you and kiss you and love you... only this time we won't have to stop if we don't want to. We have time, Ruth. All the time in the world and we don't need to rush into anything right now.”

She giggles then and sees him frown in confusion, so she explains, “It's funny that you said rush into anything when we've just got married so quickly.”

He smiles, leaning towards her and stopping just short of her lips as he waits for her to complete the motion and press her lips to his. “I love you,” she whispers and leans into him, slipping her arms over his shoulders as she kisses him. His hands grip her waist and he pulls her against him, his lips moving gently against hers, savouring every moment.

Then he pulls back to look at her, murmuring, “I love you, Ruth... so very much.”

“I know,” she smiles, feeling calmer now even though her insides are melting at the way he's looking at her. She drops her gaze then to look at his body, admiring how smart and sexy he looks. She slips her hands down from his shoulders to his tie, fingering the soft silk before she reaches up to undo the knot, thinking that it must be hard for him to breathe with it still tied so securely around his neck. She loosens it gently, her fingers softly brushing against his skin and making his breathing hitch and her insides melt a little more at the sound. Once it's undone, she pulls it free from his collar and turns, dropping it onto the sofa beside them.

Harry takes the opportunity to slip off his jacket and carefully drape it over the arm of the sofa before turning to face her once more, watching as she reaches up to unbutton his collar. “Better?” she asks, watching him take a deep breath as it comes undone.

“Much,” he smiles. “I hate wearing a tie,” he confesses.

“And I rather like you with an open collar,” she agrees, reaching her fingers up to caress his soft skin and making him exhale heavily. Then she begins to work on the rest of the buttons of his shirt, releasing two more before she reaches his waistcoat and has to switch to unbuttoning that instead. “What an awful lot of buttons,” she complains with a smile. He chuckles softly, reaching his hands up to help her, but she immediately objects, “No, let me. I enjoy undressing you.”

“All right,” he almost growls, his voice is so deep, “so long as you allow me the same courtesy.”

She nods, unable to find her voice as images of his hands peeling away her clothes and gliding over her skin fill her mind. Her hands begin to tremble slightly, so she takes a deep breath and exhales slowly in the hope of steadying them.

“Alright?” he asks, his voice suddenly soft and smooth like silk.

“Yes,” she whispers. “It's just...”

“What?”

“It's just you... your proximity and thinking about... us, what will happen... It's so...”

“Nerve-raking?” he offers.

“No,” she shakes her head, pausing as she pulls open his waistcoat and lifts her eyes to his, “I mean yes, perhaps. I was going to say exciting and wonderful and... you're right, nerve-raking. I've wanted this for... oh, years now, and I can't quite believe that it's happening. That you're my _husband..._ and soon you'll be my lover too... and I confess, I _am_ a little nervous because... well, because it's something we've both wanted and dreamt of and... fantasized about for so long that I'm a little worried I'll... disappoint you, and-”

“Don't talk nonsense, Ruth,” he interrupts as he reaches his hands up to cup her cheeks, scanning her face with loving, passion filled eyes. “How could the reality ever fall short of a mere dream?” He smiles then and kisses her lips softly, pulling back quickly to look at her again, adding earnestly, “I can take over, Ruth, if you want. I'm enjoying this – you undressing me, the slow pace – very much, but if you need me to, I can take charge and we can get lost in the passion and each other.”

“No,” she shakes her head determinedly, the logic of his words doing wonders to calm her nerves. He's right; she's being silly. Dreams could never be better than the reality of them coming together at last. Not when she's felt the intensity of the raw passion they feel for each other which, quite miraculously, they've managed to keep more or less contained until this moment. “I like this. I've never undressed you before and I like the slow pace for now... even if it _does_ feel a little like torture.” She smiles up at him and pushes his waistcoat off his shoulders, draping it over his jacket and adding with a mischievous smile as she turns back to face him, “It's a good kind of torture.”

“Oh, yes,” he grins. “The very best.”

“Mmmm, braces,” she hums as she lowers her gaze from his face once more and glides her hands over his chest, stopping to slip her fingers under his braces and sliding her hands down them. “I _love_ you in braces, Harry Pearce. You know I've always wanted to do this,” and slipping her fingers out from under the elastic, she pulls it towards her and lets go, making them twang against his chest and belly. He doesn't make a sound, which surprises her and makes her lift her eyes to his face again. He's smiling broadly at her, the twinkle in his eyes making her heart melt and skip several beats. 

“Is this the part where I get to twang your bra strap?” he asks as he leans towards her with a devilish grin, his right hand sneaking up her back.

“No!” she exclaims in alarm, twisting away from his questing hand and squealing in surprise as his arms swiftly wrap around her and pull her against him, his body pressing snugly against her back.

“Tut tut, Ruth,” he murmurs near her ear, making shivers run down her spine again. “It's only fair. Tit for tat.”

“Hardly fair, Harry,” she manages to reply. “Pulling a bra strap really hurts.”

“And?” he growls, before tugging on her ear lobe with his teeth.

“Oh, God,” he gasps and feels her knees go weak, but he's holding her securely in his arms so she doesn't crumble to the floor as she half expects. “Did it hurt when I twanged your braces?” she asks with a frown of concern when she's recovered enough to speak.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs.

“I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think. I didn't mean to hurt you. I-”

“You didn't,” he smiles and she can hear the smugness in his voice as she pulls away from him and spins round to glare at him. He shrugs and gives her an apologetic look to placate her, adding, “It's not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but it wasn't painful...” He tails off and takes a step towards her so their chests are almost touching, gripping her hips with his large, warm hands so she cannot escape, before he whispers, his voice dropping into a low rumble, “Mind you, there aren't many things you could do that would be painful right about now.” Then he reaches forwards to kiss her and this time he holds nothing back. All his love, desire and passion are poured into this kiss so that she's powerless to do anything but capitulate, pouring her own feelings for him into it, adding fuel to the fire that's blazing between them until it consumes them both.

Their remaining garments are discarded hastily. They toe off their shoes, her dress pools at her feet, his shirt and vest land haphazardly on the sofa, and his trousers fall onto the floor with his braces still attached. They tumble into bed, their lips coming apart for a moment only to find new skin to explore, to taste, to feel. “You're so beautiful, Ruth,” he murmurs as he lifts his head for a moment to look at her, raking his eyes over her figure and letting his left hand follow his gaze, delicately stroking her skin and fingering her ice blue, lacy bra and panties. “It's been the hardest thing I've ever had to do, Ruth – waiting for you all these years and especially these last few days when I could have had you hundreds of times already.”

“Hundreds?” she giggles, raising her eyes to his from where they've been busy admiring his body, the broadness of his chest, the strength of his shoulders and thighs, the softness of his belly and the largeness of the bulge in his trunks.

“Hundreds, Ruth,” he growls as he pulls her against him and begins to devour her once more, rolling her underneath his body as their lips fuse together and their hands glide freely over each other, slipping under their few remaining garments and working to bring pleasure until even that is not enough. Then they strip each other naked and come together at last, their bodies joining in incredible perfection. “Look at me, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily as he fills her and stills inside her, so she opens her eyes to stare into his, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that twists her gut as she opens herself to him like this and lets him see into the deepest, darkest parts of her soul, and at the same time, marvelling at being allowed a glimpse into his own and feeling her breath catch at all that she sees there. No words are necessary to express their love and the sense of completion that they feel in this moment.

Slowly they begin to move, prolonging the exquisite sensations and tender closeness between them until they can hold back no more and everything is fire and passion and exquisite bliss.

Her head is nestled under his chin, her left arm draped across his waist and left leg wrapped around his right one when she finally opens her eyes and moves her head back to look at him. Sensing her movement away from him, he begins to roll backwards, but she quickly slips her hand down and grabs his bum, holding him firmly against her and murmuring, “No, don't go.”

He stills then and smiles, pulling his upper body away from her slightly to see her better. “Hello, my gorgeous wife,” he murmurs, his smile broadening into a big grin and she can't help but grin back.

They watch each other for several moments, their eyes radiating love and joy. “I like it here,” he murmurs eventually. “I wish I could stay like this with you always.”

“We'd starve,” she points out playfully, “and get cold.”

“Ever my practical Ruth,” he replies.

“Well, someone has to be,” she smiles. “Besides, we have to come apart in order to come together again.”

“If I were thirty years younger, Ruth,” he murmurs seductively, “I'd prove your theory wrong. As it is, however, I fear it'll take several hours for me to be ready to go again.”

“Good,” she sighs.

“Good?” he frowns.

“Yes, good,” she murmurs. “I don't know why you men always think that that's a problem. It's not the _quantity_ that's important, but the _quality_ of the love making.”

He smiles, reaching his hand up and threading his fingers through her hair, massaging the base of her skull and making her moan with pleasure. “And was it good?” he asks softly.

“Fishing for complements, are we?” she smiles.

“Hmmm,” he hums. “Just making sure you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“It wasn't just good, Harry, it was bloody fantastic and you know it,” she sighs, leaning forward and resting her forehead against his shoulder to give his magical fingers better access to the back of her head and neck. “You were right. It was so much better than I ever dreamt it would be.”

“That's good,” he smiles, continuing to massage her scalp, her neck, her shoulders. “That's very good.”


	11. Chapter 11

 They meet the others for the wedding breakfast at Mumm, the restaurant they've already booked a table at for the occasion. The food is wonderful, the atmosphere warm and relaxing, and the conversation pleasant and entertaining. Catherine shares anecdotes from her latest filming project in the Middle East, while Malcolm chips in with snippets of information and knowledge he's gleaned over the years. Ruth herself doesn't say much but is content to sit back and listen to the conversation, drinking in the scene before her of quiet contentment, companionship, and joy. Even Harry, she notes, is so much more open than he usually is. The smile is never far from his lips and he's much more talkative then usual, sharing anecdotes of his own and commenting on the others' stories with pleasure and a twinkle in his eye. It seems he loves to tease Catherine and Malcolm and to laugh at his own jokes.

“You're very quiet tonight, Ruth,” Catherine says suddenly, interrupting her quiet enjoyment in watching them all and especially Harry.

“I'm enjoying myself far too much to speak,” she confesses. “I was just thinking that the three of you are the most important people in my life right now.” And it's true, though it surprises her a little that she's including Catherine in this group. She's only known her for less than a week, but she's admired her strong sense of justice and dedication to her work ever since the November Committee investigation, and she's such a warm, open person and so much like her father in many ways that she can't help being drawn to her and thinking of her as a life-long friend, especially since she will always be important to Harry and, consequently, always be part of their lives.

Malcolm smiles at her words, his cheeks turning a little pink, while Harry's eyes soften into an expression of pure adoration as he looks at her. Catherine, however, merely grins and retorts, “And here I was thinking that Dad had tired you out and that's why you were silent.”

Ruth chokes on her wine at that, making Harry glare at his daughter before leaning towards Ruth, laying his hand on her lower back and asking, “Ruth? Are you all right?”

She nods but is unable to speak as she puts down her glass and covers her mouth with her napkin, her coughing fit making her eyes water. A waiter appears with a glass of water, which Harry accepts with a warm thank you and hands to Ruth, who's coughing has subsided enough to allow her to take a grateful sip. Then after she's wiped her eyes, she smiles up at Harry and clears her throat before she whispers a little hoarsely, “I'm fine. Just went down the wrong way.”

“And no wonder,” Harry grumbles, glaring at his daughter again.

“What?” Catherine asks innocently. “I was just paying you a compliment, Dad!”

“Some compliments I can live without,” he growls.

Catherine laughs at that, reaching forward for the wine bottle in the middle of the table, but Harry beats her to it, moving it out of her reach as he says dryly, “I think you've had enough of that, don't you?”

“Dad!” she objects immediately, her temper flaring in an instant. “I'm not eight any more. You can't just... send me to my room!”

“Can't I now?” he growls, his eyes glinting dangerously with the challenge.

“Just you try,” Catherine replies, her jaw set and her eyes flashing as she glares at her father, and she looks so much like him in that moment that Ruth has to smile.

“Much as a battle of wills between you would, undoubtedly, be very entertaining to watch,” she murmurs, her eyes twinkling in mirth, “I would really rather you didn't spoil my wedding day by starting one now.” She watches as the two of them begin to relax, Harry breaking eye contact first and turning towards her.

“Sorry,” he murmurs softly, his eyes softening as he reaches for her hand to give it a squeeze.

She just smiles at him, squeezing his hand in return and saying with a mischievous smile, “And, Catherine, your father deserves every bit of that complement. He's rather... impressive and I'm one very satisfied woman.”

It's Catherine's turn to almost choke on her wine, putting her glass down with a loud thunk and an exclamation of, “Argh! Ruth! That's _way_ too much information.”

Harry on the other hand gives her a big grin and chuckles softly at Catherine's reaction, not breaking eye contact with Ruth as he replies, “Well, Catherine, you did seem curious to know.” Then he leans forward and whispers softly, “God, I love you so much,” before he presses a firm kiss against Ruth's lips.

“Love you too,” she smiles as he pulls back, gazing into his eyes for a moment before turning to pick up her glass of wine.

“Where's Malcolm?” Catherine asks, most likely in a bid to change the subject.

“Probably in the gents',” Harry replies as he picks up the bottle of wine and tops up all their glasses, including Catherine's. “He got up some time ago, mumbling something about fetching some water for Ruth. Strategic retreat,” he adds with a small smile.

 

* * *

 

They take a walk through town after their meal, Malcolm and Harry ending up leading the way while Catherine and Ruth trail along behind them, getting caught up in a discussion of Ruth's travels and the politics of the places she'd visited during her exile. Catherine appears to be very well informed on most of the political and social issues in most of these places, and it wouldn't surprise Ruth to find out that she knows of every struggle against oppression in the entire world. She's particularly curious about Ruth's first hand experience of the tensions between the people inhabiting these regions. Eventually, Ruth discovers that Catherine's decided to focus her next documentary closer to home, somewhere in Europe, having already spent much of the last decade filming in the Middle East and wanting a bit of a change. Privately, Ruth thinks it has more to do with her personal security than boredom, but she doesn't say so. She's sure Catherine's first hand experience of the bombing in Lebanon has done a lot to temper the youthful feeling of invincibility, and though she probably went back there to film her latest documentary out of sheer stubbornness and a desire to prove that she can, a character trait she must surely have inherited from Harry, Ruth thinks she's ready to move to slightly safer ground. She's glad for Catherine's sake, but mostly for Harry's. She knows how much he worries about his daughter, and frankly, she thinks he deserves a brake; he's got enough things to worry about at work.

By the time they reach the hotel, Ruth finds she's really rather tired. All the tension and adrenaline build up from planning and arranging their wedding, not to mention the mounting sexual tension between her and Harry, has finally been released and it's left her feeling like she could sleep for a week.

They find Harry and Malcolm already sitting down to a quiet whisky in the lounge. Ruth smiles as she sees them. There's something so very comforting about the sight of the two friends relaxing with a drink together and she can just picture them sitting here well into their old age, reminiscing about life and past operations, and it warms her heart to know that Harry has at least one good friend he can do that with.

“Join us,” Harry smiles as he spies them by the door.

She shakes her head as she stops by his side and takes the hand he offers her. “I'm tired. I'm going to call it a night.”

“Me too,” Catherine agrees, stifling a yawn. “I didn't sleep much last night and I'm knackered.”

“Then perhaps we should-” Malcolm says and begins to rise, but Ruth stops him.

“No, Malcolm, finish your drink,” she smiles and turns to Harry only to see him looking at her uncertainly. “Really. There's no rush. Enjoy your nightcap. You're on holiday after all.” She leans down and kisses his lips softly, murmuring, “I'll read my book for a bit.” She knows that he knows she always likes to unwind at the end of the day by reading for a few minutes, and she knows that his nightcap is equally important to him before bed for the same reasons. He nods and smiles as she pulls back, squeezing her fingers before he releases her. Then she bids Malcolm goodnight and goes upstairs with Catherine. They separate at the door to her room with a goodnight hug, and once her bedroom door is closed behind her, she sighs in contentment. It's been a wonderful day and she's loved every minute of it, but she's grateful for the few minutes alone she has now. She's lived alone for so long that she now finds she needs the solitude for a little bit every evening. So for the next half hour, she goes about getting herself ready for bed while she processes all the events of the day, smiling often at the recollections that flood her mind.

By the time she slips under the covers, she's feeling wonderfully content, happy and relaxed. In fact, she decides to skip reading her book and think about Harry instead, reliving every moment of the day with him and looking forward to the moment when he joins her.

 

* * *

 

She wakes to the feel of his hands caressing her breasts, his fingers delicately sliding across her skin and making her moan in pleasure, the sensation instantly igniting her desire. She's in a state of semi-wakefulness, the feel of his lips and tongue on her nipples and his fingers slipping down between her thighs mingling with her dreams and making her unable to distinguish fiction from reality, but at the same time, somehow amplifying the sensations and making her feel more alive than ever before.

She thinks she hears him murmur her name against her skin as he slips under the covers, trailing kisses down her belly to her navel, dipping his tongue into the small well before veering off to the side, his tongue sliding down her hip bone towards her right thigh as his fingers slide up to stroke the underside of her breast, eliciting another whimper of desire from her.

Soon she's squirming under his touch, twisting her pelvis round as she seeks the warmth of his mouth, her hands grabbing his head to keep him still as he teases her mercilessly. He's kissed her everywhere but _there_ and it's driving her crazy. “Harry,” she moans, her voice half frustration and half plea as she twists around underneath him again directing his head down between her legs and the source of her torment.

She feels him chuckle before he lifts his head and blows against her soft curls, making her whimper again in surprise and need. And then his mouth closes over her clit and his fingers slip inside her and she can't help the deep groan of pleasure that escapes her. He sucks on her gently and presses his tongue forward, kneading her tight bundle of nerves with exquisite skill and making her cry out as she bucks beneath him. God he's so very good at this, she thinks fleetingly as the pleasure surges inside her and with a quick expert twist of his fingers and tongue he pushes her over the edge and into oblivion.

When she comes back to herself, the first thing she notices is the feel of the tip of his cock nestled against her entrance, exerting a gentle pressure, waiting for her to give her permission for him to enter and fill her again, for him to come home. She opens her eyes, and even in the gloom of the darkened room, she can make out the smile that's spread across his lips and can feel the joy radiating from his eyes.

“Hi,” he murmurs softly in a husky voice.

“Harry,” she whispers in return, that one word encompassing all that she wants, needs and feels right now. Then she pulls his head down and kisses him, enjoying the beautiful sensation of his wonderful, perfect lips against hers. He tastes of whisky and mint and of her, the combination oddly intoxicating, and she feels heat spreading through her loins again. Her legs wrap round his hips, pulling him closer and into her welcoming warmth, his groan of pleasure as he glides into her making liquid passion surge through her veins into every single cell of her body.

He stills for a moment as he sheaths himself inside her, but she won't let him pause for long, tilting her pelvis below him and eliciting another moan from him and a warning, “Ruth, wait... I can't hold back if you-”

“I don't want you to,” she pants and recaptures his lips with hers, kissing him hard and with complete abandon as she moves him inside her. Perhaps it's because she was half asleep when they began and has left all her inhibitions behind in the land of dreams, or perhaps because it's dark and she's with the man of her dreams, but she feels herself approaching another peak in an instant as he matches her rhythm, pulling out and plunging in harder and faster until, with an animal sound, he presses his face into the pillow beside her and rams his cock into her hard, gushing into her welcoming warmth. He shudders against her, his arms tightening around her as he clings to her for a moment, mumbling something into the pillow as she strokes his hair and shoulders, before she feels him relax, his weight crushing her into the bed.

She rolls towards her left and feels him follow her lead, creating enough space for her to slip her hand down between their bodies. It takes him a moment to realise what she's doing, but when he does, he moves his upper body further away from her, his eyes opening to watch her in the dim light as he raises his left hand to cup her breast and pinch her nipple, and he begins to move his pelvis again, slipping in and out of her once more, and thought he's only semi-erect now, she's so close to the edge that, with a little help from her fingers, she comes at once with a low, drawn out moan of pleasure. “Harry,” she breathes softly as her muscles turn to jelly, her whole body relaxing and causing her to roll onto her back, her movement making him slip out of her and come to rest against her thigh.

She couldn't move now even if she wanted to and all she can manage is a low humming sound of pleasure as she fells him lift the covers further up her body and wrap his arm around her, nuzzling into her neck and pressing a soft kiss against her shoulder before he sighs in contentment and they both fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

 When she wakes, it's to find him still asleep beside her. It's early, probably just before dawn judging from the quality of the light slipping into the room, and she realises that, in her exhausted, dreamy state last night, she must have forgotten to draw the curtains. She contemplates turning over and going back to sleep for a moment, but the opportunity to just gaze at Harry in the soft, gentle light of the breaking dawn is too wonderful to pass up.

He's lying on his side, his face turned towards her, a small pout on his lips, his breathing deep and even. He looks so relaxed this morning, more so than she's ever seen him before, and it warms her heart to see it. He works too hard and doesn't get enough rest, poor love, she thinks as she reaches a hand up to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers. He doesn't stir, which surprises her a little as she's always assumed he's a light sleeper. Certainly every other morning since they've shared a bed, he's been awake before her. Then again, perhaps he just has a very accurate internal clock that always wakes him at the same time each day, but before then, he's dead to the world, or perhaps their love making last night and the fact that he's on holiday are the reason behind it. She really doesn't know yet, which is nice. She likes the fact that she still has many things to discover about him.

She watches him a while longer, letting her eyes roam over his beloved face, committing it to memory. He has lovely eyebrows, she muses as she lifts a finger to trace one. They're blonde, soft, and not too bushy though she smiles as she notices that there are a few hairs longer than the rest, a mark of his age. She loves it; she loves everything about his face and finds it devastatingly attractive. His gorgeous, expressive eyes and full, pouty lips are just perfect and would melt any woman's heart, she's sure, but she finds every other feature just as alluring. Even his ears have a pleasant shape even if they do stick out a little, she thinks, reaching her finger forward to trace the helix of his left one. His lips twitch at the contact, forming a small smile for a moment before they relax back into sleep, and she can't help the answering smile that appears on her lips or stop herself from doing it again and almost laughing out loud when he repeats the motion. Who knew that Harry Pearce smiles in his sleep when you stroke his ears?

She wonders if there are other parts of him that make him smile when stroked, so she begins to explore his skin, softly stroking his forehead, down his nose, his hair, the side of his face and neck, his shoulder, his arm, the back of his hand, his collar bone and the top of his chest before she gives up. Clearly it's just his ears that are sensitive like that, she thinks as she strokes him again, grinning at his unconscious smile. Unless of course... She lifts the covers and peers down at his crotch, admiring him for a few moments before reaching down to stroke him there too. It doesn't make him smile, but he _does_ let out a low moan of pleasure before he rolls onto his back, but he still doesn't appear to be waking. She watches him for a moment remembering how wonderful it had felt last night when he'd woken her with kisses and caresses, and deciding to return the favour.

She slips under the covers and works her way down, turning to the side so that her body lifts the covers enough for some light and air to slip through the gap. She glides her fingertips across the underside of his belly and follows the copper blonde hair down to his groin, skirting around his half-mast erection and down to his inner thighs. His groan, though muffled by the covers, makes her smile and she watches as he spreads his knees apart, a clear invitation for her to continue. He must be waking up, she thinks as she leans forward and runs her tongue down the seam where his right leg meets his body, reaching his soft sac and caressing it gently with lips and tongue as her fingertips continue to slide from his groin down to his knee and back again.

It's fascinating, the shape and feel of his balls, how they move inside his sac as she touches them, and how the texture of it changes with time. Soon she can feel it getting tighter, drawing his organs higher towards his body, and can hear his breathing coming in pants. His hands have slipped into her hair, caressing her gently as she explores him and tightening their grip on her head when she finds a particularly sensitive spot. His scent is heady and highly arousing, making her wet for him within just a few seconds, and as she eventually abandons his balls for his shaft, she can taste last night's love making on him. He groans and tenses below her as her tongue glides up his shaft, his hands tightening their grip on her head until she reaches the tip. Then she slips him inside her warm mouth and feels him lift his pelvis towards her as he simultaneously pushes her head down so suddenly that she has to twist away from his hands and use her tongue to stop him from going in too deep. Her motion seems to surprise him and she feels him freeze, perhaps coming fully awake all of a sudden, before he gently caresses her hair and tries to pull her head up. She hears him say something, but she can't make out his words, and in any case, she's enjoying the feel of him in her mouth too much to want to stop, so she resists his efforts to gently pull her away, and it's only as he begins to sit up that she reluctantly releases him and sits back on her heels, pulling the covers with her and lifting her head to meet his gaze as she pushes her hair out of her face.

“Good morning,” she smiles, moving closers and straddling his thighs as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips against his.

“Mmmm,” he hums, delving deeply into her mouth and slipping his arms around her, his hands gripping her bottom and drawing her against him so that she can feel his hardness trapped between them, pressing against her stomach. She moans at the sensation and begins to move her pelvis in circles against him, rubbing his length against her clit, a powerful current beginning to build inside her.

Soon it's not enough, so she lifts her bum off him, murmuring, “Help me,” against his lips before she rises onto her knees to give him space to position himself at her entrance. Then she slips him inside her, slowly lowering herself onto him, their groans of pleasure mingling as she sheaths him inside her.

“I love you,” he murmurs and kisses her, a long lingering, passionate kiss. “I've dreamt of this for years, Ruth. I _thought_ I was dreaming just now... and then I realised it was real. You've no idea what it means to me, Ruth. This... it's the best awakening I've ever had,” he growls.

“I wanted to... explore you and taste you. I've wanted to for so long, Harry, and besides... I wanted to return the favour,” she smiles.

He grins and kisses her again, holding her hips down as she tries to move, “Wait,” he murmurs. “Give me a moment. I want this to last.” So she smiles and kisses him again as she scrapes her fingernails across his back, making him hum in pleasure. “I love that,” he confesses.

“Me too,” she smiles, so he begins to return the favour, scraping his own nails across her skin and making her close her eyes and sigh contentedly.

“When I came to bed last night, you'd already fallen asleep, so I decided I should probably let you rest,” he murmurs after a bit, running his fingers down her spine softly and making her shiver. “But when I got into bed, you were naked and I just... I couldn't resist.”

“That was the idea,” she grins and kisses him.

“You didn't mind me waking you?” he asks huskily.

“Mind? Are you mad? I loved it! Best way to wake up ever. You can always wake me like that, Harry... whatever the time, day or night,” she smiles.

“As can you, my Ruth,” he murmurs. “As can you.” Then he kisses her again and she begins to move, rising a little and slipping back down on him, until the sensations are too much and they have to break apart for air. She pushes him down against the mattress then and begins to ride him in earnest, his hands lifting to kneed her breasts as he watches her, his gaze intense and hungry as he holds hers hostage and she's unable to look away, the deep love and passion in his eyes drawing her in until she's drowning in it and her climax overtakes her, the suddenness of it taking her completely by surprise. Barely a moment later, she feels him harden even more and he comes with a deep groan of pleasure, his hands slamming her hips down against him as he rams himself into her, his eyes glowing with emotion as he continues to stare into hers, bringing tears to her own.

She's never seen anything more beautiful or moving that his eyes in that moment, so open, so vulnerable, so loving, so honest, that it takes her breath away. She doesn't even realise she's crying until a tear falls from her eyelashes and lands on his bare chest. She blinks a few times then and watches him smile softly at her as he raises his right hand to cup her face and wipe away the tear running down her cheek. She simply can't find the words to express what she wants to say, so she takes his hand from her cheek and guides it to her chest, pressing his palm against her heart and smiling down at him as she squeezes him inside her.

“I know,” he murmurs hoarsely. “I feel it too.”

She smiles and sighs happily as she lowers her body onto his, resting her head against his shoulder as his arms wrap around her, drawing her to him and cradling her against his chest. She watches the trees sway outside the window in the breeze and listens to his heart thumping in his chest, its rhythm gradually slowing down to the regular steady beat she's fallen asleep to before. It's such a comforting place to be, lying in his arms, her senses flooded by Harry, that she finds herself wishing to always have moments like this with him when they're cocooned in bed, protected, close, safe, and together, while the world goes by outside their window.

 

* * *

 

They spend the day exploring the island a bit, visiting the various small museums, that are full of local history, and a couple of lighthouses and some windmills, all beautifully preserved and displayed. Ruth's favourite is the shipping museum that seems to be full of hundreds of model ships in bottles of various sizes. For lunch they have a picnic on the beach, which Ruth ordered from a place their hostess, Rachel, recommended. The food is delicious and it comes complete with sparkling wine and a small birthday cake for Catherine.

“Oh it's gorgeous!” Catherine exclaims as Harry pulls it out of its box and places it in the middle of the picnic rug, while Ruth produces three purple candles and a box of matches.

“They'll have to count as tens,” she explains as she pushes them into the chocolate icing, which has 'Happy Birthday Catherine' written across it in beautiful, ornate lettering.

“You're not going to sing, are you?” Catherine asks as she eyes the candles and Ruth's semi-successful attempts to light them.

“Of course we're going to sing!!” she exclaims. “It's your birthday and a very important one at that. It's not every day you turn thirty.”

“Ruth, really, I don't need a fuss,” Catherine objects as she watches Ruth struggling to light the candles which keep going out, owning to the slight breeze coming in from the sea. “Can't we just cut the cake and eat it? It's lovely enough to be sharing it with all of you.”

But just as Ruth begins to wonder if she's doing the wrong thing by insisting on this celebration, Malcolm comes to her rescue. “All we need is a breeze block,” Malcolm declares, ignoring Catherine's last remark and picking up the box. He pulls it apart to create a long piece of cardboard that he positions around the cake.

“Thank you, Malcolm,” Ruth smiles as she lights the candles and pulls back, saying, “Ready?” and at their nods, begins to sing. Malcolm and Harry join in with more enthusiasm than she expects and then Catherine blows out the candles before she cuts the cake, looking rather relieved that the whole thing is over. She reminds Ruth of Harry so strongly in that moment that she can't help but grin; Harry's always hated office birthday parties in his honour, especially if there's singing and a cake involved.

“God, it's delicious,” Catherine moans after she takes the first bite. “Is the filling apricot?” she asks, lifting her eyes to watch Ruth nod.

“Harry said it's your favourite,” she explains.

“How did you know that?” Catherine asks in surprise, looking at Harry.

“Oh, _please_ ,” Harry frowns. “I know I wasn't much of a father, but even _I_ couldn't fail to notice that, for the few short weeks we could buy apricots every year, it was all you lived on, Catherine. I remember wondering how you didn't make yourself ill with the quantity you consumed every day.”

“Mum never let me eat too many,” she admits.

“And every time you stayed with me and I took you out for pancakes, you always wanted apricot jam on every single one of them,” he continues reminiscing. “Graham wanted all sorts of different things, but you just wanted your apricot jam... One time they didn't have it, remember?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“You looked so very disappointed,” he smiles, his eyes softening as he remembers his little girl's face.

“Bet I screamed the place down,” Catherine laughs to hide her embarrassment.

“No, actually,” Harry murmurs, “you were wonderful. You just said you'd have chocolate spread instead.”

“Wait, was that the time when you got someone to bring me some apricot jam?” she asks, suddenly. “I have this image of you producing a jar of apricot jam out of nowhere and I remember being thrilled.”

Harry looks away embarrassed, but admits, “Yes, it was.”

“Awww,” Catherine smiles, “Dad! That's so sweet... You're such a softy.”

“Well, I couldn't just let you go without, could I?” he replies indignantly. “You were _so_ disappointed and you handled it so very well...” He tails off and Ruth can't help loving him all the more for being so... wonderful. She leans towards him, pressing her shoulder against his gently and smiling at him when he looks into her eyes before turning back to her cake.

“You'll make a wonderful granddad, Dad,” Catherine declares after a moment of silence, during which they all continue to eat. “You were an... okay father when you were around, but I think you'll be a great grandfather... especially once you're retired.”

“Something you haven't told me, Catherine?” Harry asks, his eyebrow raised as he tries to mask how touched he is by the compliment. Ruth knows him too well, however, and she can tell that it means a lot to him to hear one of his children say that.

Catherine just laughs and shakes her head, turning back to her cake. “Nope. Just saying.”

“Thank you,” Harry nods, dropping his gaze to the cake and clearing his throat.

“More cake anyone?” Catherine asks to cover the slightly charged silence that's fallen over them. “Ruth? Malcolm? Dad?”

“I shouldn't,” Harry replies, patting his stomach.

“Oh, go on, Dad, we can't let it go to waste,” Catherine smiles. “Besides,” she teases, “Ruth's already married you. It's before the wedding that you have to watch your waistline.”

“Of course he'll have some more,” Ruth laughs. “We all will. Right?”

“Well, I certainly will,” Malcolm replies. “It's delicious.”

“Dad?” Catherine asks after she's served the others.

“Go on then,” he agrees. “We're bound to burn it off walking back to the hotel anyway.” Ruth smiles, thinking that they're more likely to burn it off _after_ they get back to the hotel, but she says nothing. Catherine, however, looks set to make a comment to that effect, but Harry intervenes just in time. “Don't even think about it,” he growls.

“What?” Catherine grins. “I was just going to say that this has been a lovely way to spend the day. I've really enjoyed myself. Thank you.”

Harry looks incredulous for a moment before he smiles. “You're welcome,” he says.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Ruth finds herself alone with Malcolm; Catherine had wanted to see the sunset and had persuaded Harry to go with her. Ruth suspects that Harry would much rather have joined her and Malcolm in a drink, but he'd agreed to go with his daughter when she'd asked and Ruth was glad of it; he hasn't had any time alone with her yet and tomorrow they're going to be going their separated ways once they reach Copenhagen sometime during the late morning. Catherine and Malcolm are both flying back to London and she and Harry are taking a few days to explore some of the capitals of Europe as they'd discussed all those years ago because, as Ruth had pointed out, if they wait until they can do the whole Grand Tour in one go, they'll likely both be too old to really enjoy it.

“Have you enjoyed the trip, Malcolm?” she asks, pulling herself out of her thoughts and smiling across at him.

“Very much,” he nods. “It's been lovely. What about you? Is it all you... expected, hoped it would be?”

“Being married to Harry, you mean?” she asks. He shrugs non-committally, which makes her smile; it's such a Malcolm thing to do. “It's so much _more_ than I ever imagined. I don't know what I was thinking, Malcolm. Really I don't. I wish... I wish I'd given us a chance before. I wish the gossip hadn't scared me so much.”

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” he murmurs uncomfortably, lowering his gaze. “I should never-”

“Oh, Malcolm,” she hastens to reassure him, “it wasn't your fault! It was me. Purely me and my insecurities. No one else is to blame. _Really._ If you hadn't said anything, I would have found another excuse. I was overwhelmed and just... stupid, really stupid... And you know what the worst of it is? It's silly, I know, but even now... I still worry about what the team will say, what they'll think when we go back and they find out about this, how everyone will react and how they'll treat me and look at me and Harry.”

“They'll be happy, Ruth,” he smiles.

“Do you think so?” she asks, taking heart from his words.

“I'm sure of it,” he nods. “We were happy for you both before. The gossip was never malicious. I remember Jo saying one time that there wasn't much else to smile about around there and it's true. If they talk about it, it'll be to share in your joy, Ruth. Harry's one of the most highly respected section heads in five because he cares about his people, and _you_ are equally loved, Ruth, for your compassion and the way you look out for everyone. So everyone who knows you will be happy for you both that you've finally got what you deserve, that you're happy.” He pauses for a moment as Ruth ducks her head to take a sip of her drink, blushing at his words. “Besides,” he adds with a lopsided little smile, “I'd be very much surprised if some of the younger lot don't think you two have been married for years. You've always acted like a married couple.”

“Have we?” she murmurs in surprise.

“Oh yes,” he nods, smiling fondly. “Finishing each other's sentences and, seemingly, reading each other's minds, anticipating each other's needs. After Colin told me about your date, I couldn't believe I'd missed it. It was so _obvious_ how you felt about each other... and that you were madefor each other.”

“How terribly... quaint, Malcolm,” she smiles.

“Well,” he murmurs, lowering his gaze to his drink, “I was brought up in the church. My father was a minister, and in spite of everything, I still believe in the Almighty and that some things are just meant to be.”

“Of course, Malcolm,” she replies quickly, leaning towards him and brushing her fingers across the back of his hand. “I wasn't teasing you. I have nothing but the deepest love and respect for you... and if I'm honest, sometimes it _does_ feel that way - that Harry and I were always meant to be together.”

Malcolm smiles as he lifts his eyes to hers and raises his glass, saying, “Here's to you, Ruth, you and Harry. May you have a long, happy life together.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“And don't worry about the others,” he adds after taking a sip of his drink. “I'd be surprised if they even mention it.”

“Oh Beth will,” she declares, making a face. “She'll bombard me with questions, but you're probably right about the others. Lucas probably won't give it a second thought, and Tariq and Dimitri are young and male, so they'll probably think no more of it than Lucas unless Beth keeps going on about it. You're right, Malcolm. Thank you. I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill again... and as to the other people in the service...”

“Harry will deal with them,” Malcolm says firmly, “and they know it. They wouldn't dare say anything about it if they value their positions... Besides, you're tougher than you look, Ruth, and I believe you can handle anything, and you and Harry together make a formidable team.”

“And with such wonderful friends,” Harry adds as he sits on the arm of Ruth's chair and takes her hand in his, smiling down at her as she turns to look at him in surprise at his sudden appearance, “we're unstoppable.”

“Good job you're the good guys,” Catherine interjects before stifling a yawn and declaring, “Well, if we've got to be up in another six hours, I'm off to bed. Goodnight all and thank you for a lovely birthday.”

“Goodnight, Catherine,” they each reply as Catherine kisses Harry's cheek and waves to Ruth and Malcolm.

“Another, Ruth?” Malcolm asks as he gets up and ready to get himself a top up.

“No, thank you, Malcolm,” she smiles also rising from her seat. “I think I'll follow Catherine's lead and turn in. It's been a long day and we have an early start.”

He nods and turns to Harry, “What about you, Harry?”

He hesitates, and she can tell that he's torn between wanting to be with her and his favourite bedtime ritual, so she quickly responds for him, “He'll have a small one, Malcolm.” She sees Malcolm nod and move towards the bar as Harry turns towards her with a questioning look. “You've earned it after that walk,” she smiles, placing her hand on his chest as she leans forward and kisses his cheek. Then she pulls back slightly and whispers, “Just don't be too long tonight. I don't want to fall asleep before you join me.”

“I won't,” he murmurs in a low, husky voice. “I've still got that extra slice of cake you made me eat to burn off, remember?”

“ _Made_ you eat?” she laughs, pulling back to look at the mischievous grin on his face. “Yes, I really had to twist your arm on that one, Harry,” she adds, making him chuckle. “But if you _really_ want to burn it off,” she grins before she leans forward and whispers in his ear, “you'd better be on top this time.”


	13. Epilogue

_Four weeks later, Harry's house, London_

 

She hears the key turn in the lock and gets off the sofa, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and tiptoeing towards the front door, not in any attempt to be quiet, but because the floor is cold against her bare feet. She hears him close and lock the door and then hears the soft beeps of the electronic keypad as he resets the alarm. As she rounds the corner into the hall, he's just pulling off his leather gloves and setting them on the hall table along with his keys.

“Hi,” he murmurs softly as he looks up and smiles at her, turning to face her, but she doesn't give him a chance to say anything more before she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his, making him lose his balance for a few moments as he staggers back and crashes heavily against the door. He's slightly winded by the impact, his breath escaping in a gasp, but he recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around her and regaining his footing, spinning her round and pressing her against the front door with his body as he delves into her mouth delightfully, his hands slipping swiftly under the blanket, her pullover, and her pyjama top, seeking out her warm skin. They glide firmly over her sides before slipping back down, under the waistband of her pyjamas and knickers, squeezing her bum and making her moan loudly. “Mmmm,” he hums as he releases her lips and works his way along her jaw to her neck, licking and sucking her skin. “You smell wonderful,” he groans, nuzzling his nose into her hair as he kisses the very sensitive spot just behind her ear. Then he sucks on her earlobe, making her cry out his name in need while his fingers move between them, skidding across her wetness and easily slipping inside her. “God, you're so wet for me, Ruth,” he pants, pressing her harder against the door, pushing his erection against her hip and groaning with lust.

Their need for each other hasn't been this intense since their first few times together and she knows that they're never going to make it to bed now. Even the sofa in the next room seems too far away right now; she's going to come any moment if he continues to kiss and touch her like that. Her hands slip down to release him from the confines of his trousers and boxer briefs, taking him into her hand. He's so hot and hard that she knows he's ready to explode, and it makes her climb even higher, teetering on the brink of her climax. “Harry,” she breathes, and without quite knowing how they manage it, she feels him slip inside her, the feel of his throbbing cock sliding into her tight pussy triggering her release as she shouts his name and tumbles over the edge. He plunges into her hard, two, three, four times before she feels his muscles contract, his cock twitch, and his warm semen spill inside her while she clings to his shoulders, his thrusts prolonging her own orgasm, making her hardly notice that he's slamming her roughly into the door behind her.

Eventually they still, both panting, clinging together in exhausted bliss, listening to each other's heart pound in their chests and smiling in satisfaction. “Hello,” she murmurs after their breathing has slowed a little, making him chuckle. He lifts his head to look at her and they begin to disentangle themselves, her feet slipping to the floor as he slides out of her tender heat, both of their breaths hitching as they separate. It's something that they nearly always do when they reluctantly come apart now that they're back at work, both of them swallowing the little bubble of fear that rises up inside them, that _this_ might be their last time. It's a little soon to think about retiring from the service, but with each passing week as her need and love for him grows stronger, the fear of losing him is often almost overpowering, and she hopes that they can find a way to leave it all behind them soon. She doesn't think she could bear it if they were separated now.

She pulls her pyjamas and knickers back up as he tucks himself back into his underwear and fixes his trousers before they look at each other again, his hands rising to push her hair back out of her face and kiss her. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips, kissing her again, longer and deeper until he makes her toes curl with pleasure.

“I love you too,” she smiles when he pulls back, opening her eyes to look at him.

“That was a very warm welcome home,” he grins. “I rather enjoyed it.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. “Me too.”

“What brought that on?” he asks softly.

“Well, I was sitting here, waiting for you to come home and thinking about our first time,” she smiles coyly, “and then I heard your key in the lock, and I couldn't seem to help myself.”

He chuckles softly and murmurs, “I know what you mean. I've been looking forward to tonight all week.”

“Me too,” she giggles.

“And I've been at half-mast all day, thinking about it,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her. “Have I told you that I love free sex days?”

“Yes,” she whispers, “and you've shown me too. I'm quite fond of them myself. I rather enjoyed jumping your bones before you'd even had a chance to take your coat off.”

He smiles then and looks down, murmuring, “Well, that's a first. Perhaps I'd better do something about that.”

“Indeed,” she replies, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “And I'd better go and get changed.”

“Into what?” he frowns, glancing down at her pyjamas. “You're already ready for bed.”

She wrinkles her nose then and leans in, murmuring conspiratorially, “I'm all wet.”

“Yes, you were,” he teases.

“Mmmm,” she agrees, “but this wetness isn't from me, Harry. It's all yours... and there appears to be rather a lot of it.” He laughs as she walks away saying, “Put the kettle on, Harry. I'll be right back.”

By the time she comes back downstairs, Harry's made a pot of tea and is eating his dinner at the kitchen table. She joins him while he eats, her cat – _their_ cat, she corrects herself – curled up on her lap purring as she strokes him and they talk about their day, discussing their most current operations and intelligence as well as other more mundane every day things that all couples talk about.

Once he's done eating, they move to the living room where Harry gets himself a glass of whisky and they settle themselves on the settee, Ruth's head on his shoulder and his arm draped around her, holding her close. She watches the gas fire flickering in the grate, content beyond words to be here with him and wondering why she deprived herself - and him - of this for so long.

Malcolm had been right – everyone on the team had been happy for them, Beth especially so, surprising Harry with a big bear hug when she'd heard the news. She smiles now as she recalls Beth's excited squeal of joy when she had confessed that she'd got married while she'd been away, and the surprise and then delight that had infused her face when she's asked, “Who's the lucky guy?” moments before Harry had returned from parking the car and said, “That would be me.” She doesn't think she'll ever forget the love written all over Harry's face as he'd said it while gazing into her eyes, nor the surprise on it moments later when Beth had launched herself at him, hugging him with an exclamation of, “That's bloody brilliant!” They'd told the rest of the team the next day at the end of the morning briefing, and they'd all been pleased, smiling as they offered their congratulations.

But they've kept their marriage as quiet as possible, so very few people outside the team actually know about it and very little has changed. In fact, if anything, things have improved because of it. She and Harry are happy, more rested, more in tune with each other and able to exchange important information at all hours of the day and night. She gets a lift to work with Harry every morning and they often come home together too, relishing the extra time they get with each other, and she must admit, making her travel to and from work much faster, more comfortable and much more secure.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, pulling her out of her reverie.

She looks up at him and finds him watching her, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I was remembering the look on your face when Beth hugged you,” she grins. “You looked positively terrified.”

He chuckles, shaking his head before taking another sip of his drink and turning to look at her again. “Not terrified, Ruth, just a little...”

“Flummoxed?” she smiles.

“Surprised, yes,” he nods. “Besides I'm not very... comfortable with... hugging.”

“You don't seem to mind cuddling me,” she objects.

“But _you_ are very special, Ruth,” he murmurs, putting down his glass and turning to wrap both arms around her, “and there are many, many things that I enjoy doing with you and _only_ you.”

“Such as?” she asks, leaning into his embrace and nuzzling his neck, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Holding you,” he whispers softly; “kissing you,” he adds, pressing his lips against her forehead; “stroking your hair,” he murmurs as his slides his fingers through her hair; “shagging you against the front door,” he grins, making her chuckle; “making you breakfast the following morning, driving to work with you, watching you through the glass walls of my office as your brilliant mind finds yet another solution to an impossible situation, spending every single moment of my free time with you, coming home to you every day, loving you with all my heart, feeling so incredibly lucky that you love me and that I get to wake up next to you every morning and go to bed with you every night.”

Her heart fills and overflows at his words. He's a poet, her Harry, and she's the only one who knows it. She feels incredibly lucky that he's singled her out, that, of all the women he could have chosen, he picked her, and it makes her love him even more fiercely and cherish what they have more than ever. “I love you, Harry,” she murmurs against his skin, pressing a soft kiss upon his chest where his shirt is unbuttoned at the top. It's a wholly inadequate set of words to express the depth of her feelings for him, but _she's_ not a poet; she's an analyst, and she knows he'll understand. They're past that now - the misunderstandings and the talking at cross-purposes. Now that she's stopped fighting her feelings and has allowed them to happen, they're completely in tune with each other.

“I know,” he smiles, rubbing the back of her neck with his fingers. “Come to bed, my love,” he adds, pulling her away gently and smiling into her eyes. “It's been a long day.” She sighs and tries to bury her face in his warm neck again, making him chuckle; she really doesn't want to leave the warmth of his embrace. “Come on,” he coaxes, pulling away again and getting up, picking up his glass with one hand and pulling her to her feet with the other. “Bedtime.”

So they move upstairs and get ready for bed, kissing tenderly as they cuddle under the covers, say their good-nights, and close their eyes contentedly. And much later that night when she wakes up and turns to watch him sleeping beside her, exhausted from his long day at work and their passionate love making, she can't help but feel so very happy, not just for herself, but mostly for him. It's quite something to have the power to give the man you love so much joy and make him feel so content, so glad, so ecstatic that he can't stop smiling, not even in his sleep.

She lifts her hand and traces his ear softly with her fingertip, watching his face as his lips twitch and he sighs in bliss, and she knows that she'll always remember these moments they have together when they make each other happy and will always be grateful for her decision to stop fighting against their love and allow them to surround each other with it. It's like a blanket that keeps them warm and protected from the cruel reality of the world they live in and the job they have to do every day, renewing them every night and making them stronger, ready for the next battle that will inevitably come their way with the dawn of a new day.

 

 


End file.
